


When I See Stars

by princewardo



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Arranged Marriage, Barebacking, Child Abuse, Forced Marriage, Graphic Violence, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princewardo/pseuds/princewardo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter AU for the TSN Big Bang 2014.</p><p>Mark Zuckerberg is a freedom fighter, Eduardo Saverin is a Hufflepuff squib.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who made this year's tsnbigbang possible, and suffered through my extreme whinging about writing this without too much complaint. Everyone has to write a novel length HP fic at least once in their fandom lives, and this is mine. It has been dramatic, it has been beautiful. Treasure the suffering that reminds you that you still live. Tweeps: you guys are the literal best.
> 
> Art  
> [Fanmix](http://8tracks.com/princewardo/main-de-gloire) by [princewardo](http://princewardo.livejournal.com)  
> [Gorgeous duckling art!!!!](http://aqueeninallbuttitle.tumblr.com/post/97391585496/wardo-with-a-tiny-duckling-for-this-gorgeous-fic) by [mesmerized_mia](http://aqueeninallbuttitle.tumblr.com/)  
> [Banner art](http://serenatechair.livejournal.com/23888.html) by [wardo_wedidit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit)/[serenatechair](http://serenatechair.livejournal.com)

_[3rd meeting of the Offense Association]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA_

“Traps,” Erica said. “We should lay traps.”

Chris grinned. “Yes. Excellent idea. Dustin?”

Dustin looked up slowly, a wide smile stretching across his face. “Oh, you have no idea how many excellently painful pranks I have spinning through my head right now.”

Erica laughed and pushed the parchment to his side of the table. “Well, go on then.”

Dustin started sketching out a couple of diagrams immediately; ink spotting the paper in between each hastily noted idea.

“Are they lethal?” Mark asked.

Dustin looked up. “This is war, right?” he said, serious now.

Mark nodded.

“Trust me,” Dustin said, “this is stuff that we would go to Azkaban for in any other situation.”

_[4th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA_

“We need an in,” Dustin said ten minutes into the meeting, looking up from his fifth detailed sketch. His raised quill flicked ink halfway across the chamber, splattering the flagstones.

Chris nodded, face pinched despite his agreement. “I don’t like it,” he said. “But we do need somebody with more access to Death Eaters than us.”

“Professor Snape?” Erica suggested, looking to Mark.

Mark looked grim.

Erica nodded. “Okay, a student then. Someone with Dark aligned parents.”

“Preferably not a high profile one,” Chris added. “No Malfoys or Goyles, despite the easy targets that they are,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Right,” Mark said. “Keep an eye out for a student with likely Death Eater parents. Nobody too obvious.”

“The loner type,” Erica said. “Someone one of us could befriend without too much suspicion.”

_[6th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

“I found a target,” Erica said proudly. “A Hufflepuff Pureblood. He’s in our Potions and my Arithmancy class. His name is Eduardo Saverin.”

Dustin objected, raising his hand and waving it at her for attention. “No way, Albright. He is so magically weak, as in, so weak that in Charms last week we were practicing Wingardium Maximus, and Flitwick had to coach him through Leviosa for half the class.”

Dustin stared at them in mock disbelief, eyes comically round as he let it sink in. “Plus he’s in Hufflepuff, so, you know.”

“He’s as dumb as a post,” Christy agreed. “He’s Pureblood, sure. But we all know about the Saverin heir. He’s infamous. The Pureblood heir you most want to avoid being.” She warded herself against bad luck quickly, laughing.

Erica frowned. “But he’s topping the class in Arithmancy, and Snape uses his potions as exemplars for the fifth years most weeks. He’s not dumb.”

Christy flapped a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Those are subjects even a Muggle could pass with enough study. You’re not Pureblood, so you don’t get the stigma.”

Erica tilted her head, eyes darting to Mark, who shrugged at her, then Chris, who pursed his lips and directed her back to Christy.

“He’s practically a Squib,” Christy said, lowering her voice a little as if the word itself could curse her. “It’s lucky he showed any accidental magic at all, or his father probably would have killed him himself when he was eleven.”

“He what?” Erica and Dustin shouted in tandem.

Chris looked ill, but he was nodding. “The Saverin family traditionally attend Durmstrang,” he said.

Christy took up the story again with glee. “Exactly, Eduardo is only here because Hogwarts was the only magical school that would take him. It’s a huge black mark on his family’s record. There’s not much they can do about it though, except hope that one of his stronger Pureblood classmates will take pity on him and marry him. They might be able to arrange something decent, seeing as he’s already wealthy.”

“What the hell,” Erica muttered.

“Welcome to the feudal age,” Chris said, gently punching her in the shoulder with a grimace to match.

“Are arranged marriages common in the wizarding world?” Dustin wanted to know, looking about him warily, as if a suitor armed with wand and ring was about to burst through the heavy stone walls around them.

“Fairly common,” Mark said. “Not for muggleborns though, so your virtue will remain intact until you die, just as was intended.”

Dustin looked insulted. “Hey, I could get an arranged marriage any day,” he told Mark. “Using my irresistible natural charms!” He pinched his own cheek and pouted wetly at Mark, pre-emptively ducking a slap.

“Are you guys likely to have arranged marriages?” Erica asked curiously.

Chris shrugged, “It could happen, but my parents would ask me who I liked before they started any negotiations. They wouldn’t mind a love match, as long as the suitor was respectable.”

Christy tossed her hair, “I marry who I want to marry, and nobody else gets a choice in the matter – not even the suitor!” She grinned, and became serious. “Yeah, probably. It won’t be awful. My mother will only choose the best, and I have full veto rights. It won’t be any of you rabble.”

“My family doesn’t believe in arranged marriage,” Mark said shortly. “They think it’s horrifying, frankly.”

“The Zuckerbergs are very progressive,” Chris told Erica.

“Sure,” Christy said, rolling her eyes. “More like one rung up from the Weasleys in Pureblood circles-”

She stopped short and lifted her wand hand. “Calm down, Zuckerberg,” she said evenly.

Mark had his wand up, the tip pressed softly to the smooth skin of her exposed collarbone. “Rescind.”

“I rescind the insult I laid against the Zuckerberg line. My apologies for my lack of foresight and manners, Heir Zuckerberg.”

Mark lowered his wand. “Acceptable.”

Christy huffed, tugging her collar higher around her throat. “So touchy for a progressive,” she muttered.

Dustin was staring with his mouth gaping wide. “Did you see that?” he said to Chris and Erica. “Can we just do stuff like that to people in the halls?”

Chris laughed, “I wouldn’t try it unless you want to back it up with a fast enough hexing hand to take out the corridor around you. Anyone you try that against is probably going to be surrounded by the children of their family’s allies.”

“This place really is feudal,” Erica said, taking notes on her ever present parchment.

“Back to Saverin,” Chris said. “Regarding his unfortunate reputation – don’t you think this could be an asset?”

Christy settled in her seat again, grumpily casting an excessively violent beating charm on the cushion behind her back. “How?”

“He’s alone most of the time, from what I’ve seen of him.” Chris said, glancing at Erica to ensure he was correct. “He’d probably appreciate a couple of new friends, especially Slytherin ones. We’re not top class families, but I’d hazard a guess that any Pureblood friends would look like good prospects to the Saverins.”

“It makes sense to me, not that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to this Pureblood stuff,” Dustin said.

Mark shrugged.

The first Hogsmeade weekend seemed like it was a long time coming, and Mark was almost down to the nub of his last quill by breakfast of the Saturday. It was a blessing that the castle was constantly adrift with parchment, thanks to over-prepared first years. Otherwise Mark wasn’t particularly opposed to writing over the top of his textbooks, as long as he got his plans out of his head and committed to paper.

They were like clouds bobbing around his mind, bumping into one another and constantly reforming into beautiful, forgettable new shapes and forms. What was the point of that if they were never recorded? Naturally, the more frequently Mark transcribed his thoughts to parchment, the more frequently others floated to the top of his mind for skimming, the faster his friends developed their own strategies, and the closer Mark felt they were getting to becoming a truly formidable force. It was addictive, and Mark knew now that he had a duty to keep going. There were no breaks to be taken when his work could literally save lives one day.

Quills though, quills couldn’t be found for love or money in Hogwarts. Everyone was always snapping the damned things. There was nothing for it but to trek into Hogsmeade after breakfast, having finally ground the tip of his eagle quill into fragments and successfully splattered his hand and the page with pitch black ink.

It was nothing to do with how Dustin and Chris had nagged him at every Ravenclaw/Slytherin class for the last week about coming with them to hang out at the Three Broomsticks.

When Chris and Dustin had asked Christy, she had refused to entertain the question any further, pulling a face whenever they mentioned Eduardo Saverin or their shared Hufflepuff classes. He had considered it – there was just far more important thoughts playing out in his head than a simple drink with a Hufflepuff nobody that might amount to nothing.

While he was thinking of it though, and seeing that it was close to lunch, he went into the pub first.

“Mark!” Dustin was standing on his seat in the far corner. Mark had to squint a little through the smoke from the old stuffed up fireplace, but there was no mistaking the obnoxious flailing of Dustin’s limbs. Chris lifted a hand in greeting as he approached, nodding across the table at their guest.

Mark followed the gesture, first offering  Erica a nod to match her own, and then he jolted, suddenly uncertain of where his hands were, of where they should be, of the heaviness of his tongue in his mouth, of what expression it was exactly that he was broadcasting right now on his face.

Mark was transfixed; he could feel Eduardo’s magic, and it felt like nothing he’d ever felt in his life.

It was vulnerable but bright, like a spark in a banked fire that needed fuel and open air to flourish. He wanted to bury his hands in him and cup the flame.

Mark blinked slowly, burying his hands in the pockets of his robes and taking them back out again in uncertainty.

“Mark,” Chris said again, smirking a little. “You’re late. This is Eduardo.”

Eduardo looked up from his menu and locked eyes with Mark. “It’s good to meet you,” he said, smiling politely, and offering his wand hand. “Erica and Chris have told me so much about you already.”

Mark took Eduardo’s hand in his own wand hand, clasping them in the traditional Pureblood manner. He was immediately glad to have learnt all the traditional gestures and greetings. The Hogwarts library seemed to only hold the densest and most impenetrable etiquette texts, and it was a relief to know that the instructions did not lead him into as much fumbling as he had expected. Eduardo’s hand was warm, and more than willing to be lead fluidly through the gesture.

“What exactly did they tell you?” Mark replied, voice sharper than he could remember it being.

Chris sighed and stood, gesturing for Mark to take his seat opposite Eduardo. He rounded the table and took Eduardo’s side, patting the space beside him and allowing Dustin to sandwich him into the booth.

Eduardo dropped his gaze. “Just that you like Defence, and Transfiguration. I’m – uh – I’m terrible at both, so I like to hear about people who excel.” He smiled apologetically.

Mark shrugged. He pulled the menu out of Eduardo’s hands. “I’m alright,” he said, drawing his wand and tapping the thick cardboard. He handed it back to Eduardo, now a warm fluffy yellow duckling.

Eduardo exclaimed softly, lifting the bird closer to his face to scrutinise it.

“Careful,” Dustin said with a laugh, “Mark’s transfigurations tend to nip – his temper gets into them.”

“It wouldn’t,” Eduardo argued, showing it to Erica across the table.

She stroked it gingerly with the tip of her wand, cracking a smile when it quacked angrily.

“What have I told you about transfiguring my property, Master Zuckerberg?” A voice boomed from across the bar.

“Sorry, Madam Rosmerta,“ Dustin yelled. “It won’t happen again.”

Eduardo hurriedly offered the duckling back to Mark, who stroked it’s back with his wand, recanting the transformation spell.

“Did you know what you wanted?” Mark said, tossing the menu back to Eduardo.

“Yes,” Eduardo said, fumbling it. “Just a gillywater.”

Mark pushed the menu at Dustin.

“Really?” Dustin said to him, huffing when he didn’t get an answer. “Fine then. The usual?” The rest of the table nodded.

“Thanks, Dustin,” Chris said, pushing some coins at him.

Eduardo tried to push a galleon into his hand. “Sorry, It’s the smallest I have right now. I haven’t had the chance to get change.”

“No, no, no,” Dustin said. “We’ve got you. Erica, I’ve got yours too.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said dryly, but she let him go.

The table fell silent again when Dustin was gone, and presently they could hear him shouting their order over the hubbub that tended to blanket the bar.

“Well.” Chris said.

“This is so awkward,” Erica muttered. “Mark always ruins everything.”

Mark kicked her sideways under the table, and she jabbed him in the side equally as viciously.

“What the hell was that?” Chris said as they left the Three Broomsticks. He grasped Mark’s elbow and dragged him into the alley beside the inn. “First you don’t even want us to consider him, then you act like you don’t want to hear about him, and now you see him for the first time, and you’re acting like he’s your betrothed?”

Mark shook off his hand. “You should know better than to grab a wizard by the non-wand arm,” he said. “I could have stunned you with my other hand.”

“This isn’t a fight,” Chris said, teeth gritted.

“It’s nothing,” Mark said, suddenly. “He’s – he’s really weak.”

“We were aware of that,” Chris said patiently. “That’s why we targeted him, remember?”

Mark shook his head. “I’ve never felt another wizard’s magic like that,” he said. “Filch is a Squib, and he doesn’t feel like that.”

Chris waited.

“There’s magic in him, it’s just...” Mark stood silently, searching for the right word. “Flickering.”

Chris’s brow furrowed. “Mark…”

“Forget it.”

Mark straightened his creased sleeve and walked out of the alley, squelching through the churned snow of the High Street.

“Mark,” Chris yelled, chasing him down. “What are we doing now, at the very least?”

“I need more quills and Dustin needs more of the more violent Jonko’s tricks for his ‘pranks’,” Mark said, blankly.

“No, idiot, I mean, with Wardo?”

“Wardo?” Mark said, glancing to him as they slogged through a particularly deep patch.

“Sorry, Eduardo. It’s just a nickname Erica gave him accidentally.”

“Wardo,” Mark said again, as if he were rolling the sound around his mouth. “The same. Keep making friends with him.”

“Okay,” Chris said, shooting him a funny look.

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, stopping at Scrivenshaft’s long enough to purchase a five piece set of eagle feather quills, and a couple of vials of jet black no-drip ink. Scrivenshaft just about pushed them back out of the shop as soon as Mark received his change, and then started spelling his floors clean in a huff.

“Are you wearing trainers?” Chris said, in horror, spotting the shoes when Mark lifted the hem of his robes. “You’re going to lose your toes.”

“They have warming charms,” Mark shrugged.

“Sure,” Chris said. “And I bet they’re warm water charms at this point. Frostbite or footrot, what a choice.”

Mark smiled at the joke briefly, dropping his robes back into the snowy slop, ignoring Chris’s shudder of horror.

“Come on, if you aren’t going to buy new boots, I’m buying them for you,” Chris said, dragging his friend towards Gladrag’s Wizardwear.

“Water and snow repellent boots, please,” he told the shop assistant as he stomped the slush off his own boots onto the doorstep.

“Certainly,” she said. “We have just the thing, complete with warming and cooling charms, superior arch support, and soft fur. Can I ask which size?”

“It’s for him,” Chris said, pushing Mark into a nearby armchair.

Mark looked mutinous. “Forty-two,” he muttered.

“Very nice,” the assistant said approvingly, and incanted a summoning spell. A large wooden shoe box floated elegantly out of the back room and landed softly beside Mark’s feet.

Chris sat on a conveniently close ottoman, and put on a face that implied he was mentally preparing himself to plead with Mark. “Do you really need to wear Muggle shoes?” He enquired delicately.

“They’re better to run in,” Mark said, frowning as he bent to magically unspell his mud coated shoelaces.

“Sure, in the dry,” Chris allowed. “But this is Scotland, and that means a long wet, winter.”

“I know that,” Mark snapped.

“Well, you should, since you’re a sixth year,” Chris snapped right back.

The shop assistant retreated to the counter, out of both earshot and hexing proximity.

“So you’re going to get the boots?” Chris said, after a moment of watching Mark wrestle with his trainers.

“Yes, now shut up and help me!” Mark said, casting at his shoes so hard that they flew off and rolled mud and slush across the carpet.

“Sorry,” Chris said to the assistant.

“It’s fine,” she said, casting cleaning spells at the mess, and scourgifying the trainers for good measure. “Would you like the old shoes wrapped up to take home, sir?”

“Yes,” Mark said, resigned to it. He stuck a foot out for Chris to cast a scourgify and a drying spell on the sock as he did the other one and then planted them both into the new boots.

“Good?” Chris said.

“Alright,” Mark admitted.

“I think you should get a new robe too,” Chris said. “Honestly, do you ever bother to prepare for the school year at all?”

“I’m busy,” Mark complained. “They send the book list far too late for me to have time to shop and read before the 1st of September.”

“Typical,” Chris said. “Excuse me, miss, could he also have three standard Hogwarts robes, with all the imbued fabric add-ons, because this child is frankly hapless.”

“Of course, sir,” the assistant said, summoning three sets of robes from the nearby rack. “Will the young master be wearing one out today?”

Chris looked from Mark’s overly short, tattered, muddy hems to the new cloth. “Definitely.”

Mark sighed and got up, taking one of the robes with him behind the changing curtain.

“I promise you’ll feel much better in new robes,” Chris called behind the curtain.

Mark hurled his cloak over the rail in answer.

Chris caught it and inspected it, before handing it to the assistant. “Just a quick mend on this one, I think,” he said.

She nodded and got to work, spreading it over a clothes horse beside the counter.

Mark came out from behind the curtain, curly hair ruffled, mouth decidedly downturned. “It’s fine,” he said, balling up his old robes and pushing them at Chris.

Chris narrowed his eyes at him and vanished them. “So you don’t get any funny ideas about wearing them again.”

“Let’s just go,” Mark said, striding to the counter with the other robes and his old boxed trainers.

The assistant took his money, handed back his refreshed cloak, and shrunk all of his other unnecessary garments. “Just tap them to unshrink, I’m sure you already know well enough,” she said cheerily. “Thank you for your patronage.”

“Thanks.” Mark said shortly, shoving the shrunken clothes into a pocket.

Chris had to dash to catch up after thanking the poor witch for her services.

He caught up with Mark just before he got to the crowd that swelled around Jonko’s, grinning as the slush parted before every footfall of Mark’s new boots. “Hey,” he patted at Mark’s sleek new appearance. “You know, you probably don’t need to try this hard to catch Eduardo’s eye.”

He darted into the joke shop before Mark could retaliate, the little tug of suspicion in his brain blooming into a wonderful possibility that was far, far too good to be true.

_[8th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

“Well, well, well,” Christy said when Mark let himself into the Room of Requirement. “Look who scrubbed up. What’s the occasion?”

Mark glared at her over the back of the sofa as he hung his cloak up.

Chris didn’t even bother to muffle his snort as he pulled up a chair at the table. “You won’t believe me when I tell you.”

Christy turned her eyes on Chris, sitting up and propping her chin on her elbows at the table. “Tell me.”

Dustin and Erica came in presently, and threw their cloaks and hats over the chairs.

“Tell me,” Christy beseeched Chris, who was still grinning away in the face of Mark’s nastiest glare.

“What’s new?” Dustin said, dragging his usual stool right up to the table edge. “Drinks today went pretty well, considering Mark was there.”

Chris snorted, and threw his hands up defensively at Mark, who was bristling anew. “Sorry, sorry.”

Erica looked nonplussed, but pulled out her parchment and quills regardless. “So, did we all agree to make friends with Wardo?” she started.

Christy turned her focus on Erica, “He’s not our _friend_ ,” she said, sneering as she said the word, “he’s our target.”

Erica whipped her quill up, pointing the sharply-trimmed eagle pinion at her.  “Don’t be a bitch,” she said. “and don’t you bring that classist bullshit into this.”

The magic between them crackled, a tiny singular spark jumping to life in the air and darting to Erica’s still extended quill.

Christy narrowed her eyes, but subsided slowly. “I suppose we would do better to call him friend whilst using him, if only to really sell the lie.”

Erica lowered her feather and shook the magical spark back into nothingness.  “All in favour of continuing?” she asked, nib poised over the parchment again as if nothing had happened.

Christy raised her wand, the tip lit yellow, and the others followed her unanimously.

“Great.” Erica said. “Well, I guess, feel free to hang out with Wardo as much as you like. See whether you can get him to talk about his family.”

They nodded and murmured assent. Dustin tapped the table with his wand next.

“I have a ton of prank traps ready to go,” he said, grinning at the thought of them. “If we have anything coming up I’ll need a hand with assembling more of them though.”

Erica frowned and thought about it. “The only one of us as good at charms as you is Mark, so.”

Mark nodded. “I’ll help. Let me know.”

Erica hummed and made another tick on her parchment. “Lastly,” she said, smile on her face slowly stretching into a grin, “gossip?” She looked pointedly at Chris, who was now almost pink from holding in his laughter.

“Wait, I think I know what this is going to be about,” Dustin said, shuffling his stool out of the danger zone.

Chris lifted his hands, and grinned at Christy, “Mark has a crush on the target,” he blurted out, finally.

Christy’s eyes went wide and she looked to Erica for confirmation. “Really?”

Erica nodded, smirking.

“Next time, invite me and I will come,” Christy demanded. “I need to see this with my own eyes.” She looked at Mark and gave him a once over. “I see how it is now,” she said, laughing so hard she actually snorted.

Mark rolled his eyes and got up from the table. He took his cape and left, ignoring their peals of laughter.

“Mark, wait,” Dustin yelled after him, “we need to talk about how you’ve decided to re-enact the most cliché of rom-coms.”

“I think it’s sweet. And what’s a rom-com?” Chris said, as the door shut again, sealing their voices away.

Slytherins were with Hufflepuff for Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, and Mark couldn’t believe that he had never noticed Eduardo’s magical signature before. It struck him as soon as he entered the classroom, flickering weakly from across the room. It tugged at him anxiously every time he felt it bank and seem to almost go out. There was no way he had been like this the whole time they’d both been at Hogwarts. Mark would have noticed something so distracting.

They were working on shielding this week, a topic Mark had already drilled with his friends repeatedly, acutely aware that even a basic shield could mean the difference between stunning and death. The professor had them hurling light wooden blocks at each other in turn, and Mark didn’t even bother to lower his shield for the duration of the lesson, knowing the rotten aim of most Hufflepuffs and the temptation that would get the better of most of his fellow Slytherins could only result in a colourful set of bruises.

Eduardo was at the other end of the classroom, wincing as he good naturedly took a barrage of soft blows from his Hufflepuff partner. He didn’t even have his wand up.

Mark gave up, tossing the rest of his blocks in Christy’s vague direction and getting up.

“Where are you going?” Christy said, idly juggling the blocks into a whirlwind and flinging them across the classroom in a wide arc.

“To make friends,” Mark said shortly.

Eduardo saw Mark coming, and ducked, his eyes widening. “Please throw them gently,” he said.

Mark rolled his eyes. “What would be the point when you can’t even shield?”

Eduardo smiled, looking down at the ground for a moment. “That’s what I told them, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.”

As if to illustrate his point, a Hufflepuff thrown block hurtled towards them. Mark threw his hand out and his shield sent it flying back in the opposite direction. Somebody yelped and dropped all their blocks with a clatter.

“Very nice,” Eduardo said, impressed.

“At least bring your wand up,” Mark said. “If your opponent at least assumes you can hex them, they might not do it at all.”

Eduardo pulled his wand out of his robe pocket and held it loosely at chest height.

“Grip it,” Mark said. “Like you’re mad enough to curse the first person to look at you funny.”

Eduardo’s eyebrow went up, but he curled his fingers around the wand obediently.

“Now cast,” Mark said, expectantly.

“Uh.” Eduardo said, licking his lip briefly. “ _Protego_.”

A silvery mist flickered into and back out of existence, and Mark shuddered. That magical flicker in Eduardo leapt and waned, as if it had been quickly smothered. He looked away for a moment, smoothing his expression back into his neutral face.

“Thank you,” Eduardo said. He sounded excited.

Mark looked back to him. “It didn’t work,” he said flatly.

“Yeah,” Eduardo said, “but I’ve never managed to even see the shield form before, so that was good.” He grinned at Mark and sat back on the edge of his desk. “Do you want to try again?”

Mark nodded before he could catch himself, and snatched a block out of the nearest Hufflepuff’s hands. “Think about wanting to throw the block back at me when you do it this time.”

The flicker was addictive, and Mark’s breath caught every time it leapt only to be inexplicably smothered. It seemed to burn a little longer every time they practiced the incantation, at least until they were barraged with another small collection of blocks. From then, with his focus lost, Eduardo couldn’t even get the shield to flicker, the flame of his magic feeling like nothing more than a warm ember to Mark.

It was as fascinating as it was horrifying, and as Mark got slowly frustrated with the limits of the magic he was working with, he couldn’t help but wonder whether pinching Eduardo might get a better defensive rise out of him.

“See you next time,” Eduardo said, packing up his bag with a grin. “Thank you for helping me out. You really are good at Defence.”

Mark shrugged and dropped his remaining blocks on a nearby desk.

Eduardo waved and moved on with his fellow classmates, exclaiming loudly with one about the shielding charm he had managed to lift.

“Well, well, well.”

Mark felt someone drop onto the desk beside him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Zuckerberg?” Christy said.  “Helping out Hufflepuffs! Next thing you’ll be advising Gryffindors, and tutoring Ravenclaws. This isn’t a very Slytherin state of affairs.”

“Somebody should at least teach him a basic survival charm,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Christy said. She picked up her miniature backpack and slung it over her back, pausing only to whisper right next to Mark’s ear.

“He is very pretty though, isn’t he? I’m sure his daddy would be amenable to a suit...best get in now before all the Dark families come sniffing around looking for playthings for their second sons.”

Mark’s face hardened. He turned to fix Christy with his glare but she just smiled beatifically and slipped out the door.

****  


“We’re going to be late to the match,” Erica said, glancing at the clock on the back wall of the Great Hall.  

“Right,” Chris said, wiping his face with a napkin. He levelled a stare at Dustin across the table, only dropping it when Dustin reluctantly gave up on reaching across the table for yet more bacon.

Erica packed up her bag and looked two ways behind her before she leaned backwards across the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables and jabbed Mark in the back.

He grunted, but otherwise ignored her prodding.

Erica sighed and leaned back upwards, “Come on,” she said, seizing her bag and clambering free of the bench. Chris followed her, and Dustin rounded the end of the table, a napkin jammed full of bacon and hash browns in hand. They turned and ganged up on Mark as one, taking him by the shoulders and lifting him clear of the bench and table.

“I’m busy,” he snapped, aiming kicks at their shins.

“Christy’s playing,” Erica said. “I promised to bring all her fans to cheer, and you’re it.”

“I don’t even like Christy,” Mark sulked, giving up on the kicking.

“Sure you do, she’s in your house,” Chris said, checking that none of the Slytherins around them had taken offense. He turned back just in time to intercept Mark’s wild grab for his pocketed wand.

“Hey!” Chris smacked his hand away. “You’re going to the match, and that’s final. Besides,-”

Eduardo appeared beside the table. “Are you guys, uh, ready?” He gave their mass stranglehold on Mark a politely brief questioning stare.

“-Eduardo’s coming too,” Chris finished smugly.

Mark glared mutinously.

They set him down gingerly. Erica gave him back his bag. They all checked their wand pockets, just in case.

“Don’t you want to come, Mark?” Eduardo said, frowning.

Mark seemed to struggle for words for a moment. “I’m busy,” he said finally. “I need to study.”

“You don’t need to study,” Chris and Dustin said in exasperated unison, before looking at Erica askance for her betrayal.

She shrugged, “Hey, we could all do with more study. I’m not about to lie about that.”

Chris took a deep breath and threw his arm around Eduardo’s shoulders, ignoring the way Mark prickled with irritation. “I guess if Mark’s so busy, we’ll have to go without him.”

Eduardo raised an eyebrow, “Won’t Christy be disappointed? You said he promised to come.”

Chris shrugged. “Christy won’t be disappointed,” he said.

Dustin took Eduardo’s other side, “She’ll be enraged,” he muttered lowly. “She’s playing Beater this year, you know.”

Erica grinned at Mark as the other two walked off with Eduardo sandwiched between them. “Still too busy?” she enquired.

“Shut up,” Mark said. He used his wand to pack his books into his bag rapidly, accidentally summoning half a plate of toast into the front compartment in the process.  He took off at a lope, catching up to the trio in a matter of moments. Erica saw him pinch Chris in the side hard enough that he immediately disengaged from his embrace of Eduardo’s shoulders.

She shouldered her own school bag and slipped a couple of pieces of fruit in for later.  Then she meandered after the group, knowing that Mark would end up seating them all in the Slytherin stands regardless of their houses.

Erica caught them up as they waited in line to climb the stairs into the green festooned stand.

“There you are,” Eduardo said turning to greet her with a smile. “We were just discussing our preferred quidditch positions.”

Dustin snorted.

Erica thought for a moment, “I like to watch the Keepers. The blocked goals just feel satisfying.”

“Chasers are the most important.” Dustin puffed up his chest, “If I were a quidditch player, I’d want to be a chaser. Badasses of the pitch, just like the strikers in soccer.”

“They call it football here,” Mark said, eyes fixed on the slow moving line of students ahead of them.

“Whatever,” Dustin said.  

“What’s soccer?” Chris asked, genuinely confused.

“Exactly,” Dustin said. “Don’t worry. There’s no point in explaining. Now, Chris here, he’s a Seeker, for sure.”

Chris made a face. “I prefer chaser, actually. Seeker is a little too solitary for me. If you’re going to lump someone with that, Mark’s your man.”

“I don’t play quidditch,” Mark said immediately.

“We know that,” Chris said sarcastically. “Ergo, the way we dragged you out of your seat.”

Mark shot him a look and finally led them into the stands. They look the stairs up and up and up, around an improbable number of spirals. “This one,” Mark said finally, pointing to a doorway on the next landing.

They emerged in a typical set of seating, identical to those of the other houses, apart from the immense amount of fluttering green satin.  There were a couple of other students, but it was nowhere near packed, even in the front row, where they took their seats.

“Most people are too lazy to climb to this level,” he said to Eduardo.

“Nice work,” Eduardo said, nodding in approval as he took in the view of the pitch.

“I’d be good at seeking,” Mark said suddenly, apropos of nothing.

“Uh,” Eduardo said, brows furrowing.

“In quidditch,” Mark clarified. “But I prefer the beaters. They can control the play from any point in time or space, and they’re also the unexpected driving force of the strategy. They can choose to utilise chaos, or influence future plays with specific shots.”

Eduardo finally caught up with the thread of the conversation and let loose a barking laugh, his head tipping back and his eyes squinting shut in amusement.

“I think that’s the longest Mark has spoken in the last month,” Dustin said, eyebrows high.

Mark shot him a look, but settled more comfortably into his seat beside Eduardo, staring out at the pitch with a slight upturn to his lips.

Erica shuffled in behind them, Chris following her, so they formed a small knot of protection, Mark and Dustin guarding their resident Hufflepuff from either side, Erica, a well respected Ravenclaw witch despite being Muggleborn, and Chris with his perfect Pureblood pedigree at their backs. It was by no means an accidental arrangement, especially when they happened to be seated deep in Slytherin turf. They were lucky not to have any Gryffindors in their number, a point of contention which had come up in their initial meetings. In the end the fact that they simply had no close Gryffindor friends to trust had resulted in their dropping of the topic – that they had no eyes or ears in Gryffindor was of concern, but far worse would have been if they had not had any Pureblood Slytherin members.

The Slytherins sharing the stands with them seemingly had no quarrel with hosting other Houses – Erica saw that most of them were pairs and trios of quiet second years and a couple of older students far more intent on exploring the nether regions of their robes in the upper corner of the seating.  No doubt Mark had already cast a third eye charm on the back of his head regardless; she could feel the dry prickle of his magic scrubbing over her now and then.

“What about you?” Mark said to Eduardo.

Eduardo blinked as he caught up, “quidditch?” he said.

Mark nodded impatiently.

“I’ve never been very good at sports,” Eduardo grimaced. “I can run better than I can fly. The brooms don’t often recognise me.”

Erica felt Chris go still beside her, struck with horror at the awkward subject they’d managed to land on.

“But, I suppose I’d like to be a keeper,” he said, twisting around to grin at Erica. She offered him a high five, which he returned slowly and with confusion until he realised a resounding slap would have been the endgame.

Mark nodded slowly at his words, “You would make a good keeper,” he agreed, eyes sliding across Eduardo’s face and then darting hurriedly back to the pitch.

“We almost have a quidditch team,” Dustin pointed out excitedly. “All we need is Erica to fill in as seeker, and Christy to be our second beater.”

“I suppose I don’t really get a say?” Erica said, resigned.

“I don’t want to play anything with Christy,” Chris added. “Her beating skills are a little…”

“Homicidal?” Dustin suggested.

“Indiscriminate,” Chris said, cautiously. “Do not tell her I said that.”

“Beater,” Dustin said. “More like beat the shit out of you.”

“Exactly,” Chris said.

A cheer rose from the stands below and above them, and all eyes snapped to the front. The Slytherin team had exited their changing rooms and were climbing onto the pitch, brooms in hand, fists over their heads. A drumming of feet began to rise within the stand and within seconds it was echoing across the pitch. Christy reached the inner oval of the pitch and raised her club in one hand, her broom in the other. The Slytherin stands cheered, many of the cheers more clamorous than those for the chasers earlier.

“Christy is really popular,” Eduardo said to Mark.

Mark shrugged. “She puts at least one person in the hospital wing every match. If you come to matches to see blood, she’s your best bet.”

“Seriously?” Eduardo asked, sitting back in his chair in amazement, and no small amount of fear.

Mark nodded.

“Duck for a second,” Dustin said.

They lowered their heads momentarily to find that Dustin had charmed a glowing sign of support that curlicued over and around their heads, reading:

KILL EM CHRISTY

“Really?” Chris said. “Do you really think that’s in good taste?”

Dustin grinned, “She’ll love it, just watch.”

They all squinted down at the pitch again, tracking Christy’s bouncing black ponytail as she made another revolution of the inner circle. She spotted it when she turned back to the Slytherin stands, and waved her club at them wildly, jumping up and down in place.

“See,” Dustin said smugly.

A roar went up as Gryffindor entered the pitch, and Christy took her place in the Slytherin line up as they completed their greetings to their supporters. Gryffindor’s stands sprouted yet more scarlet satin tendrils and tapestries, colour blooming outward like an immense fiery blossom.

Dustin responded by charming the green luminescence of his sign to the maximum allowable brightness.

“It’s blinding me,” Erica complained, “I can’t see Christy, or anything except the colour green.”

Dustin sighed and charmed it higher and slightly duller. “Better?”

“Vaguely,” Erica said, rubbing her eyes. She squinted down at the pitch again.

“They’re mounting their brooms,” Eduardo said helpfully.

“Christy is threatening the Gryffindor chasers from a distance,” Dustin updated them, practically lying on the ledge of the stands. Chris grabbed him by the robes and dragged him back into his seat.

Both teams rose into the air and Madame Hooch released the Bludgers and Snitch, hurling the Quaffle into the air between the two sets of Chasers. She then dove into the sand of the pitch floor to escape the clash of six vicious broom-riding teenagers.

Gryffindor managed to escape clutching the Quaffle, despite the number of well placed and fairly well hidden punches most of Slytherin had easily spotted in use. The house sighed in disappointment en masse.

“Is that legal?” Erica asked, suspiciously.

“Nope,” Dustin and Chris said in unison.

“It’s Slytherin,” Mark said, glancing at Eduardo to watch him laugh at the quip.

The game moved fast, and though Dustin was transfixed, and Chris and Eduardo were both happy to simply track Christy’s progress and applaud at all the right moments, Erica was bored, and Mark was acting as if he wasn’t even here for a Quidditch match.

He spent half his time gazing blankly nowhere in particular across the pitch, and the rest of his time glancing at Eduardo to check his reactions to Dustin’s narration of Christy’s moves.

Christy managed to break not only a rival chaser’s nose in the first ten minutes, but also dash the Gryffindor keeper in the ribs, forcing the team to scramble a substitute into place.  To Gryffindor’s credit, they managed to keep the score almost even, despite being less one chaser.  

To Erica’s eyes however, there was one particular Slytherin player letting the side down. He missed the catches, fumbled the Quaffle, and repeatedly crossed Christy’s flight path, interfering in her pursuit of the Bludgers.

“Who is that?” Erica said, leaning forward to ask Mark.

“Chilton Giltedge,” Mark said. “Third year.  His parents take the team on spa and training retreats.”

“Typical Slytherin mistake,” Dustin said, shaking his head.

Mark shrugged. “You’d be surprised how few Slytherin students try out for Quidditch. He was one of the strongest candidates.”

“Really?” Eduardo said, turned to Mark in confusion. “It’s a huge deal in Hufflepuff. The prestige…”

“Slytherin students are more concerned with long term success,” Chris said, taking over. “Not many people play Quidditch after school. Most Slytherins are far more concerned with securing prestigious jobs or taking over family responsibilities.”

“I feel like I should know this,” Eduardo mumbled.

Mark raised his hand and awkwardly touched Eduardo’s robe sleeve, then returned his hand to his lap rapidly, as if he’d never moved it.

“I really need to see the careers counsellor,” Eduardo muttered to himself, ignorant of Mark’s movements.

“Merlin,” Dustin groaned, clapping a hand to his face, “Look what Giltedge is doing now.”

They all leaned over the stands to see the Slytherin chaser slowing nearly to a stop to intercept a Quaffle pass between his two fellow Slytherins. He fumbled it and the red ball fell, swooping in gentle spirals towards the pitch. A Gryffindor player whooshed through and collected it, making her way straight down the pitch to the Slytherin goal posts where she leisurely scored a goal.

“Wow,” Eduardo said, glancing at Mark. “Sorry, Mark, but some of your players suck.”

Mark nodded back down to the pitch. “Not for long,” he said cryptically.

They watched Christy, who was obviously furious, rage visible in her tight turns and the clipping kicks she managed to serve to the heads of the Gryffindor players she flew over. She was scanning the pitch, looking like nothing less than an overeager Seeker.  Potter even dropped a little lower than his usual high altitude observation position, unsure of what exactly it was that she was searching for.

It all became clear when the Bludgers reappeared from whatever destruction they had been distracted with. The matched pair was travelling tightly together, jostling slightly as they turned. They seemed to spot Christy waiting for them and headed directly for her, accelerating to top speed as they closed in.

“Oh no,” Eduardo breathed, leaning forward. His hand went out and clutched automatically at Mark’s robe.

Christy was well prepared.  She dropped suddenly, swatting one Bludger out of range with a backward flick of her club and then served the second Bludger an almighty crack of a strike, following the shot through until she was almost horizontally perpendicular to the line of her broom. She rolled then, pulling the broom back in under her and righting herself in order to watch her blow land.

“Who?” Chris said, confused by the direction of the blur that was the speeding Bludger.

Chilton Giltedge took the blow directly in the front of the shoulder, and it practically bore him to the ground despite the broom holding him aloft. When he lost his grip he dropped heavily the last few feet into the sandy pitch, his broom ricocheting back into the sky. The Bludger promptly disappeared again, no doubt in search of its next victim.

“Merlin,” Chris said, wiping his brow.  Dustin was speechless with amazement, his only action to dim the charmed sign a little. Just in case.

Mark laid his hand on Eduardo’s fistful of his robes. Eduardo’s face was bloodless, his eyes huge. “Is he dead?” he whispered, looking to Mark first.

“No,” Mark said. He squinted down at the crumpled Chaser, already surrounded by teachers and Madame Pomfrey with her four legged emergency kit skittering along in tow.

“Looks like a broken collarbone,” he said. “I guess Christy was feeling generous today.”

“She does this a lot?” Eduardo said, swallowing hard. He unconsciously tightened his grip on Mark’s robes.

“He’ll be fine,” Dustin assured him.  “See, they’re giving him some Skelegrow right now.”

“His internal magic will have him better than new by tomorrow morning,” Chris said flippantly, then regretted his words.

“I don’t think I can ever play Quidditch,” Eduardo said weakly. “That’s way too intense for me. You’ll have to find another Keeper, sorry.”

Dustin sighed, then perked up, “Erica, you’re back in the line up!”

Erica ignored him. “Play’s starting again.”

Dustin leaned in again. “It’s fair now,” he said. “They’re both down a Chaser.”

“Is Christy not going to be penalised for almost killing someone?” Eduardo asked, almost hysterical with disbelief.

Mark took the chance to awkwardly pat his hand on top of Eduardo’s still-clutched white fingers. “It would be pointless, they’d just have to take a penalty against their own team. Not to mention that Bludgers are very unpredictable.”

The remaining Slytherin chasers regrouped hurriedly, and launched a strategy of fast passing that funnelled the Quaffle to the Gryffindor goal over and over again. Their swift recovery seemed to throw Gryffindor off their game considerably, and the Bludgers that Christy and her Beater partner were sending to the left and right of the Slytherin Chasers as they progressed up the pitch were keeping them nervous and reluctant to intercept.

“This is beautiful,” Dustin said in awe. “This is – Merlin, I think I’m in love with Christy. Don’t tell her I said that.”

Slytherin won, through sheer grit and dedication to passing the quaffle through the goals over and over again.  Potter managed to locate the snitch before Slytherin’s seeker – a surprise to no one – but it was irrelevant, the mere 150 points not nearly enough to rival Slytherin’s immense 220 point lead.

Slytherin poured out of the stands, calmly triumphant, and without much of the high fiving and hooting that generally characterised the stadium departure of a winning house.  Winning sat well on Slytherins, and Mark was no different. He lead the group out of the tiered box and down the winding stairs with his head high, a small curve to his lips.

Eduardo seemed more shell shocked than anything else.

“Surely, you’ve seen Quidditch before?” Erica said, scrutinising his extreme reaction.

“Of course,” Eduardo said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just don’t usually go to the game with anyone. Additionally, I don’t think any game I’ve ever attended has been quite that…bloody.”

Dustin pounded him on the back, “Well, then we’ll be sure to invite you to every game with us,” he said. “I can’t live knowing you’re missing out on Quidditch,” he went on, voice thick with disbelief, as if he wasn’t sure how Eduardo had survived without the great game up to this point.  

“I don’t know,” Eduardo mumbled. “It kinda freaks me out. So many injuries.”

Christy was waiting for them at the edge of the pitch, hair wet from the showers, in fresh robes still creased from folding. “You took your time climbing down,” she said.

“What a game” Dustin cried out, reverently.

Christy preened. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Amazing,” Chris agreed.

“Brutal,” Erica said.

“You were really frightening,” Eduardo said, honestly. “I wish I could fly half as well as you.”

“Hm,” Christy said. “I like your compliment the most. You should tell me you’re scared of me more often.”

“Every day,” Eduardo promised, smiling weakly.

Eduardo hadn’t gotten any better at defence over the last month, at least as far as Mark could tell. It was fairly obvious, seeing as everyone else in the class had a shield charm up, and Eduardo was the only one getting pelted with tiny fishy morsels.  Strictly speaking, there was no official call for shielding – they were observing a Kappa’s biting technique, and writing down all the likely bodies of water in which one might run into the territorial creatures.

Clearly nobody had considered that a covered tank might come in handy. Hufflepuffs were wincing at every squelch of parted flesh, and hurriedly ducking, reluctant to even take a splatter of wet guts to the shield.

Christy stuck Mark in the side with her elbow, jolting him half off his chair, and blotching their shared parchment in the process.

Mark scowled, rubbing his rib briefly.

“Get on with it, then,” Christy said, prodding her quill end in Eduardo’s direction. “Make ‘friends’.”

Mark gave her another glare, but headed across the classroom regardless, shield held high enough that it began to cover Eduardo slightly even from a distance.  Eduardo looked up with a squint that turned into a wide grin as Mark reached his desk.

“Thanks,” he said, getting up and offering his chair.

Mark shook his head. “You’re the one who needs to conserve magic,” he pointed out.

Eduardo smiled again, uncertain this time.  He sat down nonetheless.  

“Want to try shielding again?” Mark said after analysing Eduardo’s carefully inked scroll on Kappa feeding. It was textbook perfect.

Eduardo made a face. “I’m not really feeling it?” he said, waving a hand awkwardly. “Magically?”

Mark nodded.

“I’ve been practicing though.” Eduardo said quickly. “I think I’ve gotten far better at it since you helped me.”

“Good,” Mark said, staring intently at the Kappa in between glances back at Eduardo. It was slapping idly at the tank walls, having finally run out of raw fish.

“I was wondering,” Eduardo said after a couple of awkward moments where Mark accidentally met his gaze no less than twice in a row, “maybe we-”

The Kappa made a tiny pointed fist and jabbed the glass plate of the tank, screwing up its face and becoming rapidly phosphorescent. The light filled the tank, blinding the class at large.

“Shield!” somebody with presence of mind cried out.

Mark felt something thud against his shield, and he instinctively threw himself to the right, pushing with pure determination into his shielding. The next thing he knew, they were all drenched with freezing, stinking lake water.

Shields began to drop out of shock at the blow of cold water, and the tank walls fell from precariously propped positions in mid air, shattering and ricocheting in shards as the personal shields still standing shunted them back and forth.

Mark wiped his face and sat up, spotting Christy across the room, drenched and furious, but unharmed. The professor was scuttling around capturing errant glass. Mark twisted around and found Eduardo, soaked to the bone, and huddled behind the desk he’d been swept from.

“Eduardo?” Mark said, getting to his knees slowly. He placed his hands carefully to avoid the glass fragments.

A spike of cold panic skewered him, and he crawled over and dragged Eduardo’s robes away from his face and hands. There was a tiny scratch across one cheek, but no other sign of injury. Mark sat back a little, relieved, and shook his shoulder instead. “Wardo, say something,” he said.

Eduardo seemed to rouse at his words, tightly shut eyes opening slowly. “I’m – I’m fine,” he said.

His hands were shaking as he straightened the robes that the water and Mark had disarrayed in turn.

“I’m c-cold,” he said, apologetic. “So-sorry.”

“You’re in shock,” Mark said, familiar with the phrasing. He grimaced, hearing his mother’s forthright words automatically coming out of his mouth.  “I’m going to take you to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m fine,” Eduardo protested, letting Mark lift him by the forearms.

“I’m going to cast on you,” Mark said, starting before he received permission.  If he didn’t cast on Eduardo now, no one would until he was well set into shock.

“Oh-okay,” Eduardo said, stumbling slightly. Mark pulled him into the hallway and dragged his robe loose, letting it slop onto the stone floor. He casted a couple of haphazard drying charms at Eduardo’s clothing, trying not to think too thoroughly about the underclothes he was hoping to warm.  He did his boots next, then his hair, which immediately stuck up like an unruly dark mane, and finally the sopping cloak.

Eduardo trembled the entire time. He wavered after his boots were emptied of water, and Mark had to catch him under the arm until he was steady enough to shrug his robes back on.

Mark hurried them to the hospital wing quickly enough that he could barely remember the route they’d taken by the time he handed Eduardo over to Madame Pomfrey. The only things left clear in his head were that he was inexcusably late for Double Potions, and that under all those clothes, Eduardo had felt soft and fever warm.

It was typically Chris that reminded him at lunch that they could visit Eduardo in the Hospital Wing. He almost refused the invitation when a memory invaded his mind’s eye – Eduardo curled on his stomach despite Mark covering him with his shield, as if he was resigned to having to brave the full blast of the accident alone.

“Alright,” Mark said, packing his book away and getting up.

Chris blinked. “Well, good!” he said. He picked up a couple of pieces of fruit and a nice looking sandwich, and wrapped them in a napkin.

Erica sidled over from the Ravenclaw table as well. “Are we going to see Wardo?” she said. “I have some Chocolate Frogs left over from the train.”

Mark nodded and put his hand out. Erica rolled her eyes and slapped the frogs into it.

There were already two adult wizards in the Hospital Wing when they walked in. Mark could only assume that from their height and tall, dark, and handsome countenances that they were Eduardo’s parents. He straightened up immediately, shooting a pointed look at Chris.

“Mark,” Eduardo said.

He was sitting upright on the edge of a bed, still slightly pale. His hair was slicked down again, flatter than usual. It was a near identical match for his father’s hairstyle.

“Father, Mae; this is Heir Mark Zuckerberg. He helped me during the accident. Also, my f-friends: Heir Chris Hughes, and Miss Erica Albright.”

He looked to Mark. “Mark, these are my parents: Lord Saverin, and Lady Saverin.”

Mark bowed slightly, Chris deeper, and Erica bobbed self-consciously. The Saverins inclined their heads minimally.

“Thank you for your aid,” Lord Saverin said. “No doubt Eduardo will need further help in the future, so we are grateful for your patient friendship.”

Mark’s lip curled slightly.  ‘It was no hardship,” he said generously. “Eduardo can call on us at any time.”

Lord Saverin raised an eyebrow briefly. “In thanks, we would like to extend an invitation to stop with us for a few days over the Yule break.  Your equally esteemed friends, Heir Christine Lee and Master Dustin Moskovitz are also welcome to attend.”

Mark and the others nodded in acceptance.  Without another look at his son, Lord Saverin took up his bag and left in a sweep of rich dark navy robes, Eduardo’s mother so close on his heels that she appeared attached.

Eduardo smiled nervously at the three of them remaining.

“I’m so glad you came to visit,” he said.  “Mark – are those Chocolate Frogs?”

Mark shrugged and handed them over.

“Thank you,” Eduardo said.

“It’s nothing.” Mark said. “Those were your parents?” he switched tack.

“You’ll come to Yule, won’t you?” Eduardo said. His hands wound into the folds of the sheets beneath him. “It’s not a celebration or anything- the house elves just make bigger meals, and it’s a public holiday here, so we, you know.” He lifted one shoulder uncertainly. “I guess we assimilate a little.”

Mark looked askance at Chris and Erica, who both nodded.

“We can come,” Mark said. “We might be a little tight on time, but we’ll be there.”

Eduardo smiled at his knees. “Cool.”

The dawn of Christmas Eve saw them trussed up in double cloaks and boots, trudging through hard snow that had practically iced over.

“This is the worst idea.” Christy snarled. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets.

“Well, if you’d thought to bring some gloves…” Dustin said, waving his own toasty fingers in her direction.

“I hate casting through gloves,” Christy grumbled back. “And I just know I’m going to need to cast every five seconds when I’ve got you lot tagging along behind me.”

“You haven’t cast anything in the last hour,” Erica pointed out, voice muffled by her fur snood.

“That’s not the point,” Christy grumbled.

They reached the furthest point of the Hogwarts wards, marked by a low wood and wire fence with the occasional stile set into it. The westernmost border of the Forbidden Forest rustled not far to their right. The fence trailed into it and immediately disappeared. As Erica stretched her leg over the top of the stile, the wire beneath her twanged gently, thrumming all the way along the fence.

Erica leapt over, stumbling a little in the snow as she landed. “What was that?” she said, looking down the line into the forest.

“Could be anything,” Chris said, stepping over next, careful not to strike against the wires. “Probably just some animal in the Forest brushing against it.”

“Ready?” Mark asked.

They muttered assent and gathered in a rough circle, kicking up the snow as they got into position.

“Outside Borgin and Burkes,” Dustin reminded them.  “Visualise and hold on.”

It was dim in Knockturn Alley when they apparated, darker than the clear winter sky they had just left, but the cramped street was lit with glowing lamp lights that bobbed back and forth. Unlike Diagon Alley at this time, Knockturn Alley was still humming along softly. Witches and wizards infrequently swept by soundlessly, singularly or in close pairs, never groups. The stores were lit and almost all marked OPEN, although their doors stayed tightly shut for the most part.

“We need to split up,” Christy said immediately.

“What, no!” Dustin hissed. “That’s how people die!”

Christy rolled her eyes. “I can assure you, I’ve been here far more frequently than you, and this group is nothing but suspicious.”

Mark nodded. “We need to blend in.”  
  
“We’re only laying Dark traps.” Chris reasoned. “Just stay on the main street.”

“Christy and Erica stay with me,” Mark said.  “Chris, you take Dustin.”

They split and took opposite paths down the street, ducking the bobbing lanterns.

Mark took Erica and Christy’s arms, and leant into their ears in turn. “Drop traps as we go.”

All their pockets were stuffed with the miniature magical traps that Dustin had plotted and tinkered out of bent spoons and matchsticks, and little puffs of cruel hexes. They were designed to detect Dark magic, modelled off the same detection charms that Christy’s Foe-Glass and Mark’s Sneakoscope utilised. Just much cruder, and more prone to exploding in a shower of nasty half-formed hexes.

“If we drop these things on cobblestones, don’t you think they’ll explode?” Erica whispered back, a hesitant hand buried in her outside pocket.

Mark shrugged. He pulled one out of his own pocket and tossed it faster than they could see onto the stoop of a nearby store.

“They seem sturdy enough,” Mark said.

Christy punched him surreptitiously in the side. “Dick.”

They wandered onwards, winding their way slowly from each side of the street to the other. Erica was the best of them at the casual plant, but Mark had the best shot. Erica was dropping them faster than either of them could keep her pockets full. By the time they’d reached the dank mouldering end of Knockturn Alley, where it split into a vast array of tiny zigzagging nooks, they’d almost cleared their pockets. They took a turn around the almost black fountain at the end of the alley, dodging the fetid splashes that the malevolent stone mermaid in the centre kept trying to spit their way.

“Shall we head back to Borgin and Burkes’?” Erica suggested. They agreed, and stepped back onto the path they’d come down.

Everything was identical on the way back, but at the same time, it had all changed. The stores were the same, but the lanterns seemed dimmer and lower.  Mark was almost clipped by one in the very middle of the street.  Witches and wizards were scarcer, and the lights in the stores were being snuffed out even as they passed them by.

Mark could feel Erica and Christy’s eyes on him, and he knew exactly what it was they weren’t willing to commit to words. That much would only hurry it along and make it so.

The Alley was aware of them.

They stepped along faster, heads together as if in silent telepathic conversation. Borgin and Burkes eventually came into view around the corner, and Mark caught sight of the bright shine that was Chris’s blonde hair. Erica physically drooped against his side in relief.  They jogged the last few feet.

Dustin looked up and past Mark with horror.

“What?” he said, self-consciously.

Dustin shook his head wildly.

“Now, what exactly are you?” someone else said, his voice tinged with an American accent. “Delinquent children out for a night of thrills, I suppose?”

Mark turned around slowly.

“It’s far too early for little ones like you to be out of bed,” the man said. He rubbed his grey-stubbled chin with his leather gloved hand. “I remember being your age,” he sighed.  “The only thing that ever taught me was a good scare.”

“Wait,” Mark said, lifting a hand automatically, defensively. He heard Christy snarling a curse, something cruel. It fell too late though, and disappeared into the swirl of magic that fell all around them like a swirling miasma.

“ _Daedalae_ ,” the man’s charm echoed, the hard edges of the consonants disappearing as the fog carried his image further and further away from them.

The ground seemed to drop out from under them, and Mark fell. He threw his arms out, and flailed his legs, grasping for a handhold on something.  

He landed with a thump on the uneven cobblestones, his hip and then his face finding the rough stone surfaces first. His breath shunted right out of him.

When he had managed to coax air back into his lungs, Mark turned over and sat up slowly. All five of them were still there and they looked, for the most part, unharmed.  Erica was sporting a slight graze to the cheekbone, but it was barely bleeding.

“What was that charm?” Mark said, wheezing a little as he got up.

Chris was staring around them, rubbing his knee. “We’re in the same place, but it’s foggier,” he said. “ _Daedelae_ …it must come from Daedalus.”

“The guy with the wax wings?” Erica said, confused.

“Let’s go,” Mark said, beckoning them into a circle again. “Apparate back.”  

They joined hands obediently and stood in silence for a moment.

“I can’t!” Christy said, in disgust. “That charm must have us trapped in a false environment.”

Mark tried again, then dropped Erica and Christy’s hands and tried it alone as well. Nothing.  “We can floo instead,” he said decidedly. “The nearest public floo is the Leaky Cauldron.”

The other murmured assent. “Wait.” Dustin said. “Which way is Diagon Alley?”

They looked around them.

“Everything looks the same…” Erica said. “Like, literally, they’re all the same as one another.”

Sure enough, the stores were all identical. Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes. Christy pulled at one of the doors. It was locked tight.  They walked along the street a little in the direction Chris and Dustin had taken previously, seeing as Mark’s group had only ended up deeper in the labyrinth of Dark alleyways.

“It was a labyrinth charm,” Mark said suddenly. “Daedelus built a labyrinth – this is some kind of maze charm.”

Dustin frowned. “A maze or a labyrinth?,” he said, “because they’re very different things, and trust me, a labyrinth is much preferable.”

“You want to fight a monster?” Christy scoffed. She waved her hand at a puff of wafting fog beside her face.

Dustin’s eyebrows scrunched up. “Who said anything about a monster? Labyrinths are easier because you’re just meant to walk straight through them.”

They kept walking, passing Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes.

“I hope there isn’t a monster,” Chris said under his breath. “I’ve had quite enough of walking already.”

There wasn’t a monster, but there was a lot more walking. Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes. Hours passed, though Mark was too focussed on the possibility of the charm ending at any moment to keep a proper eye on his muggle watch.

Borgin and Burkes, Borgin and Burkes, Burkes and Borgin, Borgin and Burkes.

“Wait up!” Dustin said. “One of them was different. Still not right, but different.”

They kept walking. “It must be wearing off,” Mark said, pointing upward. Light was beginning to filter through the fog, the idea of the sun so alien to them now that it felt hot where the rays fell on them.

Chris stopped short. “I know where we are,” he said.

“What?” Erica said, grabbing his arm to use him as a resting post as she caught her breath.

“I know where we are!” Chris said again, louder. He looked back at them all, counting. “Follow me,” he said.

He pelted off, leaving them no choice but to follow him.

Mark pushed Dustin ahead of him, recognising the lethargy that had begun to set in. He was beginning to grow sluggish and careless, and if he let him stop or rest, he knew that it would be an impossible task to get him upright and moving again.

“Christy,” he said, checking her position. She was loping along beside him, a couple of steps behind, competently covering their rear retreat. She had a couple of still shrunken traps in her left fist, and she began tossing them down occasionally, unshrinking them as they fell past the wand in her right hand.

“Nice work,” Mark said. “Feel free to prod Dustin when he falls behind too.”

She laughed despite her obvious exhaustion. Her skin was dull, and her eyes heavier than Mark had ever seen them, but she showed no signs of letting up otherwise.

“Diagon Alley,” Erica called back to them, and Mark too began to recognise the stores around them.

He didn’t even begin to feel properly safe until the fog around them became witches and wizards – the average afternoon crowds of Diagon Alley. The labyrinth charm had finally fully abated.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mark could hear Chris apologising ahead of them, and he motioned for Christy to slow down with him as he walked rapidly in his direction.

“Just walk,” he said to Erica when he caught her up. “Blend in.”

They both reached Chris and took an arm each.

“Chill,” Erica said to him. “We’re all going to walk to the Leaky Cauldron now. Be casual.”

Dustin perked up at the words, and they became a compact group again, moving swiftly with the flow of the pedestrian traffic.

Luckily the old inn was packed when they entered it, and they had to jostle their way to the fireplace, and join the line to use the Floo. Nobody looked at them twice, to Mark’s relief.

They got to the front, and Erica gave them all their handfuls of powder.

“One at a time,” he said, “Five second spaces, the destination is ‘Saverin Estate Greeting Hall’.”

They all nodded seriously.

“Erica, you have blood on your face.”

“Sorry,” she said, wiping it with her cloak sleeve. “Better?”

Mark nodded, and tossed his Floo powder into the fire.

The hall they slid smoothly into from the Floo was cavernous and empty. It was clearly intended to function only as a reception room, and as such its only features were a small selection of unobtrusive sofas, an entire back wall of priceless looking tapestries, and a goodly amount of blazing torches.

Mark was about to suggest that they find Eduardo, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy door being opened and then shut firmly.

There were footsteps, at least two sets. They paused just beyond the open doorway to the entrance hall. A cloak being removed flicked past the doorway, and Mark knew without a doubt that it was Eduardo’s. He’d only stared at it for the last three months. The lightly furred edging was unmistakable. No one but Eduardo wore a cloak so insulated against the cold.

“So,” Lord Saverin said, “you lied about having friends, did you?”

“No, Pai,” Eduardo said. He stepped back a pace, and Mark could see his profile now. He was slightly pink from the cold, and his hair had a dusting of snow in it.

“They’re running an errand, Pai,” Eduardo went on, dropping his chin, body language broadcasting his uncertainty louder than any words. “They’re just a little late.”

So fast that Mark almost thought it didn’t happen, a hand struck Eduardo across the face. Eduardo stumbled a little, but he stood his ground, not even lifting a hand to touch his face.

“They’re coming,” Eduardo said again, breathless this time, the air having been quite physically knocked out of him. “Mark will be here soon.”

“I think it’s about time you ended this pathetic performance,” Lord Saverin said. Mark saw his tanned hand dart out again, this time pulling Eduardo’s wand from its holster at his hip. “It seems like every day you make it clearer to me exactly how unfit you are to be a wizard.”

“I’m – I’m not lying,” Eduardo insisted. He was swaying a little on his feet. His mother’s small hand darted out to support his elbow.

“Make some noise,” Mark hissed to the others behind him.

Dustin leapt into action and knocked over a poker set with admirable ease. Chris and Erica set to work industriously dusting their robes off and chatting as if they’d only just flooed in.

“They’re here!” Mark heard Eduardo exclaim. He come rushing in, and greeted them all, face shining. He still bore the fading white of a blow to his cheek.

Lord and Lady Saverin followed more sedately and they came to a halt just inside the hall. Lord Saverin surveyed them all as Eduardo greeted them with fond but formal arm grips. Mark winced as Eduardo jostled his cobblestone bruises, but he remained still, meeting Lord Saverin with a fixed stare.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Mark said, using the formal manners his mother had long since despaired of dragging out of him. “We are honoured to stay in your home.”

Eduardo’s mother nodded quickly and Lord Saverin released her arm to let her leave the hall.

“A pleasure,” Saverin said. His eyes went from Mark and straight to Christy instead. “Heir Lee, it is a fine thing to meet you.”

Christy nodded back. “A pleasure,” she said, only the lightest suspicion touching her tone.

“We won’t trespass on your kindness too long,” Mark interrupted, still staring fiercely.

Saverin flicked his eyes back to Mark, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Eduardo will show you to your rooms,” he said then, and he turned his back on them in a manner that could almost be considered an insult, were they not to stay in his home.

As soon as he was gone, Christy turned on him. “Are you an idiot? Don’t you remember why we’re here?”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Mark said. “We don’t need his information.”

Christy frowned at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Can I show you your rooms?” Eduardo said suddenly, tousled from Dustin and Erica’s informal greetings. It looked better on him than the shaken and cowed look he’d sported before he’d heard them clattering around beside the fireplace.

“Please,” Erica said, pushing more of her dusty hair up into her messy pony tail. “I’m exhausted.”

Eduardo led them up a flight of stairs and then to the right. “I stay in the East Wing,” he said, “so I’ve given you all the rooms around mine. This way you won’t have to worry about being loud, either.”

They reached the first of the rooms after at least two minutes of walking a seemingly endless corridor. “Christy, you can have this one,” Eduardo said. “Just call for the house elves if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Christy said, opening the door herself. “Very nice.”

Erica and Dustin got the next two rooms, Chris the one opposite them, and then they reached the end of the corridor. A tiny porthole of a window looked out on a frozen garden, the view crisscrossed with icicle fingered branches.

“This is my room,” Eduardo said, indicating to the closed door to the left of the window. “You can have this one opposite.” He went to open the door for Mark, and managed to brush against his grazed hip again.

Mark hissed under his breath, and Eduardo leapt back, the door swinging open onto a dark room.

“Are you hurt?” Eduardo said. He paused and looked back down the corridor nervously. “Let’s go inside,” he said, guiding Mark into the room with a tentative hand. The torches sprung to life when Eduardo entered.

The door shut itself, and Mark gave into curiosity and pulled his outer robes aside to see the grazes.

“Merlin,” Eduardo gasped. He pulled at Mark’s robe to see the injuries better. A few of the scrapes were still oozing blood. “What happened to you? Did someone do this to you?” Eduardo demanded.

“I fell,” Mark said, honestly. “It’s not bad. It should heal in a day or two.”

“I wish I could heal it now,” Eduardo said, looking at his empty wand holster.

“You’d be brought up on underage wizardry charges any way,” Mark pointed out.

“You think the Ministry would really care about a couple of failed spells from a Squib?” Eduardo laughed bitterly.  “They’d just pass it off as accidental magic. They barely noticed when I was eleven, they had to hunt my magical signature down to even detect me, and that was after Pai – after my father bribed them.”

Mark lifted his hand, gingerly laying it on Eduardo’s arm. He wasn’t the best at reassuring gestures.  “It’s okay,” he said.

“No,” Eduardo said, tugging at Mark’s robes. “It’s not.” He managed to wrench them over Mark’s head, and Mark gave in and sat down on the nearby bed in only his pants and boots.

“Lissy,” Eduardo called out.

A tiny house elf appeared at his side immediately. “Master Eduardo, how can we be helping?”

The house elf looked up at Mark suspiciously, then sniffed and turned back to gaze up at Eduardo.

“Please, Lissy, do we have any ointments for mending cuts and bruises in the house? My friend Mark is injured,” Eduardo explained politely.

“Lissy is having a very good ointment indeed, young Master,” she paused though, visibly nervous.

Eduardo’s brow furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

Mark knew what was coming. He shifted on the bed to take some pressure off of a nasty graze he could feel on the back of his left thigh.

“Lissy is wanting young Master Eduardo to have good friends,” the house elf said, taking a big breath and puffing her chest up with bravado. “Mister Zuckerberg is no friend of house elves! Young Master should tells us if Mister Zuckerberg needs to be removed.” Then she bowed until her face was pressed into the weave of the rug on the floor and popped away.

Eduardo gaped at the spot she had been in, and then turned to gape further at Mark. “What the hell did you ever do to house elves?” he demanded.

Mark gave him a wry smile. “Somebody clothed all of ours about one hundred years back. They didn’t take it well.”

“Your family didn’t have them iron their hands, or sent them out to perish in the snow, did you?” Eduardo said, seriously.

Mark stared at him. “Are you crazy? We just told them we didn’t want to enslave them any longer, gave them all a nice pair of socks, and told them they could go to work wherever they wished.”

“Oh. You aren’t related to Hermione Granger, by any chance, are you?” Eduardo said after a moment, prompting a bark of laughter from Mark.

“No, this wasn’t a historical S.P.E.W. initiative,” Mark said. “But you would be better off not telling them anything you ask them for is for me. Especially at Hogwarts – there are a lot of ex-Zuckerberg house elves at Hogwarts.”

“That explains so much about the condition of your robes,” Eduardo said thoughtfully.

Lissy popped back in then, holding a jar of ointment and dragging her feet about handing it over.

“Oh, Lissy, thank you for bringing this ointment for me,” Eduardo said, careful with his words of acceptance.

Lissy brightened. “Young Master Eduardo is very welcome. All the house elves is happy to see him again. We is preparing the best feast for young Master and his good friends,” Lissy emphasised the word ‘good’, and Mark had to stifle a cough of laughter.

“Thank you for your service,  Lissy,” Eduardo said formally, and Lissy beamed, ears twitching, and popped away.

“Suck up,” Mark said.

Eduardo flicked his ear in revenge and opened the ointment jar. It smelled strongly of peppermint. He took Mark’s left arm and started dabbing it onto grazes from the hand upwards. Mark used his right hand and took care of his purpled midsection and chest. Eduardo traded arms and Mark had to sit still waiting for him to be finished.

“How did you do this?’ Eduardo asked him again, interrupting their silent work. He climbed onto the bed and settled behind Mark, legs crossed.

Mark suppressed a shiver as Eduardo slid his warm, ointment-greased palms over the bruises on his shoulder blades.

“I fell down really hard,” Mark said again, eyes sliding shut as Eduardo’s hands passed over the nape of his neck.

He felt, rather than heard Eduardo’s huff of dissatisfaction.

“You’re wrapped up in something bad, aren’t you,” Eduardo said quietly. “This doesn’t happen to ordinary students. Normal people don’t disappear for two days, and suddenly floo into people’s houses covered in injuries.”

“It’s none of your business,” Mark said. He could practically feel Eduardo’s eyes roll at that.

“I’ll keep asking,” Eduardo threatened.

Mark shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to ask some difficult questions of my own,” he said. “Like about what exactly it was that I saw going on when I flooed into your father’s greeting hall this evening.”

Eduardo fell silent, and pulled his hands away from Mark’s skin. “I’m finished,” he said.  He clambered off of the bed, but left the jar on the quilt next to Mark.  “In case anyone else has a bruise,” he said, nodding at the wall. He shut the door behind him quietly.

Mark sighed, but shrugged. He unbuttoned his pants and shed them carefully, hissing as the wool weave dragged at semi-scabbed lacerations. He dabbed the ointment all over them, grateful that the ointment jar was self replenishing. It wouldn’t do a lot, but it would tide him over as he waited for his internal magic to heal him naturally.

He shook his clothes out, taking them into the bathroom, where he gave them a rinse under the tap in the bath and laid them over the edge of the bath to give the self cleaning and drying charms in the fabric a chance to kick in and refresh them. It was a good thing Chris had bullied him into buying them after all, especially if the house elves in the Saverin estate were going to be so actively hostile for the entirety of his stay.

Mark got into the bed and was asleep before the torches could even start to dim for his comfort.

Chris roused him later, prodding him with one hand and digging into the ointment Eduardo had left behind with the other.

“Supper,” he said as Mark opened his eyes grumpily. “Do not make me face Eduardo’s father on my own.”

Mark groaned and threw the blankets back.

“Nice bruises,” Chris said with a grin. “Eduardo help you soothe them?”

Mark made a face at him and stalked into the bathroom for his dry robes. He pulled them on, glad to find that most of his grazes had healed over as he’d slept.

“Let’s go,” he said to Chris, taking the ointment away from him and pocketing it.

“Merry Christmas,” Mark said to Christy as they sat down at the long table.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Thanks?”

“Well, no one else here is going to say it to you,” he said.

She shrugged. “No big deal. It’s just a holiday.”

Lord Saverin came in, and they all stood momentarily as he seated himself. Eduardo was on his right, Lady Saverin opposite on his left. Christy had been granted the seat next to Eduardo, and Chris the seat next to Lady Saverin. Mark rolled his eyes at the obvious social machinations.

Christy answered any number of predictable questions from Lord Saverin with grace, and took care to offer Eduardo platters he could not reach, smirking slightly down and across the table at Mark each time.

Mark couldn’t remember what he was eating even as he ate it. Doubtless it was good food, but there was a bubbling in his gut that eclipsed anything else that was going on. It roiled as Lord Saverin complimented Christy’s lineage and magical skills. It leapt when Lady Saverin nodded in agreement and offered tidbit after tidbit to her. Dustin and Erica were politely ignored, but the feeling pinched him as Chris accepted and returned a token compliment. He began to feel sure that should Lord Saverin even look upon him with disdainful kindness, he might be eaten up by the bubbling rage and throw himself down the length of the table, silver fork in hand.

Thankfully, Lord Saverin only eyed him once, and it was with a wary suspicion that did not invite conversation. Eduardo’s parents excused themselves as soon as the third course was cleared, wishing them a restful Yule night.

They retired to a sitting room with a roaring fire and an obnoxious amount of squashy armchairs and sofas. Eduardo offered them butterbeer and gillywater from a house elf’s tray and passed small chocolate pastries around.

Erica fell asleep on one of the squashy chairs mid-pastry, and when Chris and Dustin picked her up between them and took her to bed, Christy yawned and trailed behind them.

Eduardo and he were left alone in the sitting room with nothing but the crackling fire to break the silence. Mark had to admit that he was halfway to falling asleep in his own squashy chair when Eduardo took a seat on the wide armrest beside him.

Mark blinked at him.

“My father,” Eduardo started, before stopping when he saw Mark’s face shutter. He started again. “I think you’re mixed up in something.”

Mark looked at him blankly.

“I get it, you can’t tell me,” Eduardo said, staring into the fire instead. “It’s just…if it’s Dark – I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Mark cocked his head. “Is this your father’s round-about way of asking me about my alliances?”

Eduardo shrunk back a little. “No,” he said, uncertain.

“I think it is.” Mark said.

Eduardo seemed to gather himself up, and he leaned in and fixed him with a look. His eyes were huge and a deep liquid brown in this light. “Mark, please,” he said, “Mark, is there anything you need to tell me?”

“No.” Mark said.

Eduardo sighed and got up. Mark was surprised by the amount of heat that disappeared with that small movement.

“We should go to bed so the house elves can set out the gifts,” Eduardo said. He went to the door and held it open as he waited for Mark to follow him out and up the cold winding stairs to the East Wing.

Their celebration in the sitting room was clamorous and well catered the entire day, especially when Christy managed to cajole a house elf into trying one of the candies her parents had sent her in a massive stocking.

Mark had received a token gift of a muggle contraption from his parents that he rolled his eyes over as soon as he opened. “Trust them to send it to me when I live in the one place guaranteed to ensure it doesn’t work.”

Dustin looked equally despondent over the gifted laptop. “I really miss the internet,” he said. “Sometimes I think maybe I should have gone to muggle school.”

Erica punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be melodramatic,” she said. “There’ll still be computers when you graduate. You should be grateful that you’ll be getting the best of both worlds.”

A bell rang, and they all looked up as a flurry of house elves left the room.

“Who could be visiting?” Eduardo said, finally looking up from the thick textbook his parents had given him as a gift.

The house elves came back quickly enough, bringing with them two extremely tall, identical boys in formal robes.

Mark squinted as he tried to recall where he’d seen them before. They were Ravenclaws, he was sure.

“Mr and Mr Winklevoss,” Eduardo’s favourite house elf squeaked.

“Merry Yule,” one said, bowing a little with a smile. “I hope you can forgive our intrusion on a holiday.”

Eduardo sat up straight, and set his textbook to one side. “Not at all,” he said. He stood up immediately, and shook their hands with perfect form.

The second boy held the grip a little longer than was strictly polite, and then also clasped a second hand around Eduardo’s wrist like a vise. “You should introduce us to your friends,” he said, tone making it more like a command than a request.

Eduardo paused, flustered, unable to turn to the rest of the room. “My hand,” he said quietly. The brother smiled with closed lips and made a show of releasing him from his grip.

Eduardo wrapped his own hand around the wrist and tucked it against his chest. “Ah, these are my family friends, the esteemed Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss. They’re in their final year at Hogwarts.”

They bobbed their heads. “Ravenclaw house,” one of them said, saluting playfully in Chris’s direction.

“These are my friends,” Eduardo continued, gesturing to them in turn. “Christy Lee, Chris Hughes, Mark Zuckerberg, Erica Albright, and Dustin Moskovitz. Slytherins and Ravenclaws, as I’m sure you know.”

“Well met,” the first of the Winklevosses said. “We will come to sit with you later, Eduardo, but I’m afraid that we’re here on father’s orders to greet your parents.”

“Of course,” Eduardo said. He waved one of the house elves forward and crouched to speak to him quietly.

Mark looked on as Cameron and Tyler watched him bend with no small amount of appreciation. The boy who had held Eduardo’s arm overlong whispered something shortly to his brother, and the both of them shared a private smile. Their matching grins were white and wide, like sharks.

“Shall we go back to Hogwarts today?” Eduardo suggested at breakfast the next morning, as Chris passed him the butter dish.

They all nodded and mumbled their assent through toast stuffed mouths. “It’s been so lovely,” Erica said carefully, as she spread her jam thinner. “It’s a real pity we need to get back to studying.”

“A wise decision,” Lord Saverin said shortly, marking the only occasion he had spoken to Erica during their stay.

Mark could only push his crusty bread further into his mouth, eyes fixed on the bruises that Eduardo’s slippery satin sleeves betrayed every time he reached for something on the table.

They got back to the castle just in time to see the immense Yule tree being dismantled piece by glimmering piece.

“Emergency meeting,” Chris hissed in his ear swiftly, pulling back immediately and striding off down the row to prod Dustin and Erica out of their seats too. Mark looked about him slowly. Most of the Slytherins were in a little knot of gossip at the end of the table as usual, the rest eating in solitude much like he was. It didn’t seem as if anything was out of the ordinary, certainly nothing publicly earthshaking had happened to merit an emergency meeting. He caught sight of Christy lingering in the Hall doorway. She grinned at him, and disappeared out of sight.

Mark frowned and collected his things slowly, deliberately choosing to exit through one of the smaller doorways rather than follow Christy. When she grinned like that, it was never good news.

_[12th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

“I have news,” Christy crowed, almost running across the chamber in her haste to take her seat on the plush blue velvet sofa.

“Let me shut the door, at least,” Erica said, slipping in last and pulling the door to. It locked with a heavy grating of stone.

They all took a seat around the table, Christy laughing quietly to herself as she rearranged her voluminous robes and skirts to best effect for a dramatic reveal.

When Dustin finally decided on whether he would be taking the high stool or the low armchair, they turned to Christy expectantly. Mark already had his parchment scraps out and he was absorbed in scrawling down something rather than looking at Christy.

She cleared her throat expectantly, and gave Dustin a look. He wrinkled his nose in irritation, but obediently enough prodded Mark in the forearm.

Satisfied with at least part of Mark’s flippant attention she lifted her chin, spread her hands, smiled, and said: “Eduardo’s getting married off to the Winklevoss twins.”

“What,” Erica said flatly.

Chris’s eyebrows flew so high they disappeared under his fringe.

“Whoa,” Dustin said. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wizards can marry twins?” He lifted a hand, and fanned himself. “I’m going to need a moment to think about the Patils, okay.”

Erica smacked him. “He’s not marrying twins,” she said. “It’s just that we don’t know which twin, right?”

Christy shrugged, “Cameron is older, so it’ll probably be Tyler, but where’s the fun in just saying that, right?”

Erica said nothing, but she looked slightly relieved to hear that people couldn’t just be married off to groups willy-nilly.

Dustin leaned in, serious again, his elbows planted firmly on the table. “Are we sure this is happening?” he said, “How do you know, Christy?”

She shrugged. “Slytherin grapevine,” she said. “Mark would have heard too, if he ever bothered to come out of his dorm.”

“That’s a step up,” Dustin said, “Pureblood-wise, right?”

Christy nodded. “It’s up,” she said, “But not as high as the Saverins would like. Very grey family, the Winklevosses.” She tapped the side of her nose knowledgably.

“Well, they did just sign arrangements with the Notts and the Malfoys. They’re all getting rather tight politically, and we all know what that means,” Chris said darkly.

“Dinner parties and midnight feasts?” Erica suggested sarcastically.

Chris shrugged. “All that in black robes and masks,” he said. They fell quiet for a moment, processing the new information.  

Christy wriggled impatiently in her seat like an over excited puppy. Chris shot her a look.

“It would be helpful,” Chris said delicately, not looking at Mark. “For us to have a friend married into the Dark families.”

Christy nodded in agreement. Erica and Dustin were silent, but they didn’t look happy.

Mark put his quill down and capped his ink slowly.

“Has anyone proposed yet?” Erica said quietly, still staring intently at the parchment she hadn’t graced with a word for a good few minutes.

“No,” Christy said. “It would be a matter of public knowledge. You know the speed of gossip in this place.”

“I need to go.” Mark said. He stuffed his parchment into his robe pocket, mindless of the ink smudging everywhere. He kicked his chair out of the way and headed for the door, wand already in hand to unlock it.

“Oh no,” Dustin said, voice full of horror.

Mark heard the scrape of his companions rising, and the rustle of cloaks hurriedly being donned.

“You have to stop him,” Erica said.

“Mark!” Chris called, but he was already out of earshot, the chamber door swinging to and its lock sliding securely into place.

He found Eduardo in the Hufflepuff common room, having endured a good two minutes of insufferable giggling from the overripe orange in the portrait that hid the door, even after he’d given it the correct password. Portraits were terrible gossips, and Mark felt more certain than ever that he’d vanish them all from Zuckerberg House when he inherited.

The common room was blessedly empty at this hour, most students taking advantage of dessert seconds in the Great Hall. Eduardo had a half empty dish of Turkish Delight beside him as it was, the alternating rose flavoured ones already picked out.

“Mark,” Eduardo said in surprise, and grudgingly gestured to the plush couch beside him, ever the gentleman.

Mark shook his head and paced in front of him instead, balling up his fists.

“You should marry me,” he said finally.

There was a moment of perfect silence, and then a soft whoop of excitement from the opposite end of the room. Mark spun and fixed the offending portrait with a glare. The subject raised her hands in apology, withdrawing behind the velvet curtains in the background of her painting, no doubt to spread the gossip throughout the castle.

“What…did you just say?” Eduardo choked out, fumbling his eagle feather quill, eventually losing it under the side table he had been leaning against.

“I said, I want to marry you,” Mark repeated. “You should accept now, it’s the polite thing to do.”

Eduardo stared at him, eyes huge and frightened.

“Mark, you can’t just ask me-”

“Yes, I can,” Mark said. “I’m Pureblood, I know how it works.”

“Mark, my father, he’s in talks already. It’s the Winklevosses. Well, just Tyler, really.”

“You don’t want to marry them,” Mark accused him.

“It’s just Tyler!” Eduardo said again. “Mark, I can’t-”

“They tell their elves to iron their hands,” Mark said, grasping for argument’s sake.

Eduardo looked like he needed to lay down. “No, they don’t, Mark,” he said. “I’ve known them for a long time, and they’re perfectly civilised to their house elves.”

“Well, they used to tell them to,” Mark muttered.

“Maybe a hundred years ago,” Eduardo compromised, pressing his own hand to his face, rubbing at a temple.

“Marry me,” Mark said again.

“I can’t, Mark.”

“You will,” Mark said then, decisive.

He rummaged in his pockets of his robes, finding only the notes from the group meeting he’d stuffed into his pockets before he’d sprinted halfway across the castle.

He pulled them out, smoothing the paper out. He transfigured the parchment into rich gauzy silk, a handkerchief scarf in delicate shades of blue. It had MZ embroidered in each corner in fine silver thread. Mark didn’t often succeed at transfiguring precious metals, so he assumed his growing intent to cast had guided the ambient magic in the room around him into the finished token.

He came forward, pushing the table between them aside, ignoring the way Eduardo flinched away. He laid the token in Eduardo’s lap, the magic of the rite immediately taking hold. Eduardo jerked, his best attempt to stand aborted by the token in his lap.

“Don’t do it,” Eduardo said, balling his fists in the fabric of the sofa on either side of him.”Seriously, Mark.”

“I, Heir of House Zuckerberg, Marcus, hereby announce my suit for the hand of Heir of House Saverin, Eduardo. With this token I invoke the rituals, and vow to battle for possession of the aforementioned intended. _So mote it be_ , with Magic itself my witness.”

Eduardo swallowed hard and took the token into his hands, knowing that rejection of the ritual suit would result in a painful magical punishment for Mark. “ _So mote it be_ ,” he said, completing the ritual, every word soaked with bitterness.

“You’re an idiot,” Eduardo said, looking at the token to avoid looking at Mark again. “You’re going to make me hate you before this ends.” He crushed the cloth in his hands, unable to go on without risking his voice breaking.

Mark shrugged, as usual. “So mote it be.”

Mark left the Hufflepuff common room immediately, nose itching as he felt the ritual magic fully settle in. When he shut the portrait behind him, the apple frowned menacingly, and a couple of the grapes actually tried to spit at him. Mark rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to stun you?” he threatened them. “I don’t take lip from paint.”

The orange blew a raspberry, and Mark turned on his heel and walked away. It was still early in the evening, so Mark gathered his wits and set off in the direction of the Room of Requirement.

He ignored the portraits as he passed them – the ones that were absent from their frames were huddled in others whispering together, and those who had already been informed showed him their deep disapproval in thunderously dark glares and hisses as he passed.  He passed the corridor to the Room, rather than heading down it, but no sooner did he pass it did he hear the clatter of boots on the flagstones.

“Mark, wait,” Erica called. She caught him up and grabbed his sleeve to stop him escaping while she caught her breath. Chris came around the corner soon after, his face grim.

“Did you really do it?” Erica said, her lips pinched with worry.

Chris simply approached him and gave him a resounding slap across the face. Mark winced at the sting but made no move to retaliate. He stood his ground, letting Chris know that he would accept any further punishment.

“How dare you,” Chris said, and Mark could see now that Chris was quivering with barely restrained rage.

“The portraits,” Erica said, “they said you made him-”

Mark nodded. “I invoked the old rites,” he said, more to answer Chris’s anger than to inform Erica.

“Go,” Chris said, fists still tightly balled at his sides. “You need to inform his family.”

Mark turned obediently and continued on his errand, ignoring the patter of Erica’s shoes on the stone just behind him.  They reached the gargoyle that famously guarded the headmaster’s office in near silence. Even the stone creature seemed to stare at him with disgust.

Mark knocked on its head, resigned to wait for consideration from the Headmaster.

Erica sunk down into the stones opposite, chin in her hands. “Mark,” she said as they waited. “Mark, this is getting out of control.”

Mark snorted.

“It’s all very well people thinking that you’re Dark,” she insisted. “But this is really…real, Mark. Light wizards don’t force each other into marriage rites.”

Mark turned to meet her eyes for a second, and a tiny smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. “There’s no point in not walking the talk,” he said with finality.

Erica met his eyes fiercely, searching them. “This is what happens though,” she said. “If you allow your emotions to control your actions, you will become Dark. It’s about selfishness, Mark. More than anything else.”

Mark tilted his head, almost in silent agreement. “You can’t think that Wardo really wants to marry Tyler Winklevoss, do you?”

Erica looked away then. “I suppose not,” she said, “but sometimes I really hate the Wizarding World.”

Mark grinned at that, teeth bared in more of a grimace than a smile.

At that moment the gargoyle cleared its throat and slid to the right with a grind of stone, revealing a candlelit spiral staircase.

Mark gave Erica a nod of farewell, and ventured inwards.

The stone rumbled closed again behind him, the passage now darker and one way only. Mark climbed the stairs at an even rate, knowing who he would have to make an impression on within the next few minutes. He wiped his face as he approached the last spiral, the stone flickering lighter and more welcoming at the entrance to the Headmaster’s chambers.

“Mr Zuckerberg,” a deep voice said, “what a pleasant surprise. Please seat yourself.”

Mark entered, looking around as he crossed the rich rug that covered the floor, deadening the sound of any footfalls that struck it. The chamber was round and bright, lined with gold tapestries and studded with large nearly wall sized portraits of people Mark assumed were former Hogwarts Headmasters. The walls not draped or blocked by paintings were filled from ceiling to floor with shelves. Silver knickknacks filled these, all of them sparkling and tinkling almost imperceptibly as they revolved around themselves. There were no windows that Mark could see. The only openings of note were a large roaring fireplace, the spiral doorway Mark had entered by (which had now closed up once more), and a pretty wooden door which no doubt led to the Headmaster’s personal chambers.

Headmaster Dumbledore himself was already seated behind his great oaken desk, the top of which was coated in a mass of parchments, quills, and slightly disintegrated books.  The old man rubbed his chin, tinkling the bells that kept the ends of his beard in neat white tails.

“Please take a seat, Mr Zuckerberg,” he said again, gesturing to the armchair opposite the desk.

Mark did so, frowning when the cushions swelled around his thighs. It was a comfortable entrapment chair, of course. His mother was a fan of charming them when her family had displeased her and she felt they needed a good talking to.

“The portraits have informed me of something rather interesting,” Dumbledore started pleasantly. He conjured a pot of tea onto the desk and poured for the both of them. He levitated the cup towards Mark. He took it, but simply sat with it warming his hands.

“I would ordinarily say that congratulations are in order, but, that would be a little premature, would it not?” Dumbledore chuckled lightly.

Mark clenched his jaw momentarily. “About that, sir,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” Dumbledore said, finishing his cup.  “You will be required to inform Lord Saverin. I’m sure the ritual magic is getting a little itchy, hmm?”

Mark had been getting rather good at ignoring discomfort this year, but the uncomfortable tingle was there, yes. Not painful – more like the itch of a healing laceration. Something you longed to scratch at but knew it would only lead to bloodied nails and torn scabs.

“Somewhat,” Mark admitted hesitantly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Well, I shall have to firecall Lord Saverin, and have him come through, I suppose.”

Mark started. “I could simply firecall him myself, if that would be more convenient.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Oh no, Mr Zuckerberg. An engagement rite is not something we often get to see in action here at Hogwarts,” he thought for a moment. “Well, not for about fifty odd years now. They went through rather a spike of popularity around then. Suitors all over the place, we were practically tripping over tokens on a daily basis. Oh my.”

Dumbledore blinked away the memory. “At any rate,” he said, getting back to the point, “we should really follow the rites to the letter, don’t you think? You should see Lord Saverin in person to ensure he agrees to release Eduardo into the care of Magic for the duration of the engagement.”

Mark swallowed but nodded in agreement. He’d….forgotten about the emancipation part of the rites. Eduardo would essentially have no family or home for the duration due to the transient purpose of the rites.  This would ordinarily not be an issue, but Eduardo’s near Squib status would leave him especially vulnerable. Not even his family magic could step in for him if he was injured or cursed; not that it had seemed to be much help, judging by the prior times he’d seen Eduardo in trouble.

He threw his shoulders back nonetheless and dragged himself out of the cushions. He set the full teacup on the edge of the desk and turned to face the fireplace.

“Very courageous,” Dumbledore noted, with a smile. He stood up from his own chair and crossed to the flames, sprinkling a pinch of floo powder over them. “Saverin Estate,” he announced, and waited for an answer.

“Yes, Headmaster?” the reply came through nearly immediately. The tone was cool, the accent familiarly thick. Mark’s skin quivered involuntarily at Lord Saverin’s voice.

The Headmaster plunged his face into the fire, and crouched there for a few moments, before drawing back.

“Best straighten your robes,” he said to Mark with a twinkle in his eye.

Mark looked down and brushed himself off rapidly, pulling down the sleeves he was continually pushing up as he worked.

Lord Saverin stepped through the fireplace almost as soon as Mark was done, and Mark pulled his shoulders back into the familiar fencing position that he tended to automatically drop into around other Purebloods and old families.  The silver knick knacks around them tinkled a little faster.

“Mr. Zuckerberg,” Lord Saverin said, low and furious, walking forward rapidly, before he seemed to pull his reactions into check.

“Lord Saverin,” Mark greeted, using the traditional Pureblood bow that omitted the dipping of the head.

Saverin almost snarled, but he returned the borderline discourteous bow. “I have been informed that you have seen fit to meddle in my business,” he said then, folding his arms across his chest.

“I have asked for your son’s hand,” Mark said evenly. “He has honourably agreed to accept my suit for the appropriate period of time. It is as it should be.”

Saverin’s lip curled. “Eduardo is already engaged to another.”

Mark shrugged. “The ritual did not object, so any such arrangement must not be final yet. They will simply have to offer a similar suit should they wish to compete.”

Dumbledore interrupted momentarily, “Tea, Carlos?” He was already pouring himself another cup of tea, using his wand to tap sugar into the teacup continuously.

Saverin shot him a look of pure venom. “No, thank you, Headmaster.”

“Are you willing to confirm the rites, Lord Saverin?” Mark said, digging his heels into the soft rug beneath his boots.

“I don’t see how I have any choice,” Lord Saverin said, glancing at Dumbledore. “But let it be known that anything that happens from now is on your head.”

Mark fixed him with a glare. “What do you mean by that,” he said sharply, locking his knees instinctively in preparation for casting and deflecting hexes.

“I mean,” Lord Saverin hissed, “that Eduardo is no longer protected by Saverin magic, and should he remain useless and powerless even after receiving your tender mercies, that is your millstone to carry.” With that he turned on his heel, hurled floo powder into the fire, and stepped out of the study.

Mark blinked and pushed his sleeves up again. “That went well,” he said to the headmaster.

Dumbledore chuckled over the rim of his teacup. “No hexes at all,” he said approvingly. “You did well at keeping a cool head. I would award points, but alas, this is a personal success, not a school matter at all.”

“You will officiate though, won’t you?” Mark said quickly, fixing his eyes on the Headmaster. “To make sure they don’t cheat?”

Dumbledore raised an ashy eyebrow. “Well, if it’s a question of fairness,” he paused to chuckle, “you’ve already rendered that point quite moot, but very well. I will be pleased to bless any union young Mr Saverin agrees to.”

“Thank you for the use of your Floo,” Mark said then, the matter dealt with in his mind. “I’ll be going now.”

“Oh, no,” the headmaster said. “Come now, Mr Zuckerberg. You have yet to convince me of why I should allow you to get away with forcibly entrapping your school friends in archaic marriage rituals.”

Eduardo disappeared from classes for a couple of days, and Mark was almost relieved about it until he realized that the Winklevoss twins were reportedly equally scarce.

The Hufflepuff fruit portrait refused him admission, even with passwords and perfectly adequate tickling technique. The spitting grapes became a bit of a routine for a couple of days. After no luck with haranguing Hufflepuffs into letting him in with them (and weren’t they supposed to be kind?), he threw his hands up and had Dustin let him into the Ravenclaw common room. Their portrait was renowned for its notoriously irritating riddles, and Mark didn’t have time for such rubbish.

“You never come to visit us,” Dustin said enthusiastically, holding the door for him as he climbed in.

“Mr Zuckerberg.” A Winklevoss twin stood up from his winged armchair beside the fire.

“Oh,” Dustin said. He frown and threw himself down into a pile of cushions and wriggling 1st years. “Right. Do you kids know anything about soccer?”

“Mr Winklevoss.” Mark greeted frostily. “Which one are you? Forgive me for not caring to learn the difference.”

The twin raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you assume that we are the same man, then it hardly matters that you know which you are talking to.”

Mark shrugged in tacit agreement.

“What did you come to say then?”

Mark scowled. “Isn’t it obvious? I came to ask you and your brother to back down. Don’t get involved in our courtship.”

The Winklevoss boy grinned. “Too little too late, I’m afraid, Mark.”

“Just tell Lord Saverin it’s over,” Mark insisted. “You’re all good friends, aren’t you?”

Winklevoss shook his head. “Way too late for that,” he said. He almost sounded apologetic. “Our end of the rites are in place too.”

“Both-?” Mark bit out, eyes widening in shock.

Even Dustin sat up a little at that.

“No, no,” Winklevoss said. “I don’t want to fight my brother,” he said. “You only have one rival suitor. Not that it wasn’t a tempting thought. My brother has far more creative ideas than I do for your favourite Hufflepuff, though. It wouldn’t be fair for me to take that away from him.” Winklevoss grinned at Mark playfully. “Luckily he’s far better at sharing than you seem to be.”

Mark very nearly lunged, vision whiting out a little. Dustin slid across the cushion landslide and grabbed his ankle before he could take another step.

A door shut somewhere higher up, and someone came down one of the stairwells opposite the fire. It was Chris. He took one look from Mark to the Winklevoss twin and grabbed Mark with one hand and Dustin with the other. “Come on,” he said, dragging them towards the door.

“Cameron, you really shouldn’t wind him up like this,” he said to the grinning boy they were leaving behind.

Cameron just laughed. “All’s fair in love and war,” he said waving them out the door.

_[12th meeting of OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

“He described Eduardo as ‘comely’,” Mark said, his face dark.

“Well,” Chris said hesitantly.

Dustin lifted his hand. “Stop. I don’t want to think about how literally everyone wants to bone Eduardo. It is not conducive to the continuation of my friendship with him. I’m beginning to feel like a toad whenever he walks into the Charms classroom.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Christy said, elbowing him as she rounded the table. “But, I agree. This is a pointless discussion when we already know what happens next.”

Erica lifted her head from the table. “What happens next?”

“Negotiations,” Chris said mournfully. “So many negotiations.”

Mark raised his quill like a sword. “I know exactly what to offer,” he said smugly. “There’s no way he’ll object to my offers.”

“Tyler said he will allow me to continue to live in my parent’s home as long as I like,” Eduardo said, “perhaps-”

“Absolutely not,” Mark said, temper flaring a little.

Eduardo opened his mouth for a moment and then closed it. “May I ask why?” he said when he’d mastered his temper, teeth gritted.

“Because when you’re married to me,” Mark snapped, “I will not be able to stand the possibility of someone raising a hand to harm you for something as petty as not bringing friends home for the holidays.”

“Shut up,” Eduardo said, automatically.

“I’m only stating what I saw,” Mark said. “No one will do that when you’re married to me. That’s why you’ll come to live with my family immediately.”

Eduardo looked down at his lap, and slowly his face eased a little. He nodded tightly. “All right.”

“We don’t have any house elves,” Mark said. “But we have a lot of Muggle stuff that has been altered to do almost everything house elves do.” He thought for a moment. “You could bring a house elf, I guess, but they would probably run away as soon as they knew where they were going.”

Eduardo smiled despite himself at that.

“Do you want to adopt heirs?” Eduardo asked near the end of the meeting.

Mark tilted his head to the side for a moment, thinking. “Maybe,” he said.

“I mean,” Eduardo clarified, “when they’re still babies, or…grown up.”

Mark nodded, “Grown up,” he said.  “I’m not very good at paying attention to people who need that much supervision.”

Eduardo almost laughed again. “I can imagine so,” he said instead.

“My older sister already had a baby,” Mark said. “She married into another Pureblood family, and willingly abdicated her role as Heir as part of their marriage contract, but if I wanted to make any of my nieces or nephews Heir, I could.”

“That’s good,” Eduardo said, uncertain of what to say now. It seemed like Mark had nearly everything thought out with regard to his part of the contract.

“Your parents might take your title,” Mark said, almost as if he was reading Eduardo’s mind.

Eduardo nodded. “If I marry you, definitely,” he said.

“Did you want to name a Heir?” Mark pressed.

Eduardo laughed. “Not really. I’ve never been a very good Heir, anyway.”

“Then it’s not a problem,” Mark said, effectively tabling the discussion.

Eduardo nodded slowly. It had never occurred to him how easily the issue could be dealt with. It was as if all the worries he’d ever had about being Heir had just been pus around a small, insignificant wound.

As the days went by, Mark become more and more certain that his negotiation meetings were being eclipsed by Tyler’s.  Eduardo simply nodded through the details he had worked out about where they would live (Hogwarts for now, then Zuckerberg House until they found some other home nearer to whatever work they managed to procure, whether in the UK or elsewhere); who exactly all of his new relations would be (Mark’s mother and father, of course, as well as his older married sister and two younger sisters. Randi’s husband, of course and his extended family, and so many cousins, far too many, really); whose income they could rely on (Mark’s family had plenty of galleons, so it did not matter whether Eduardo was disowned at all); what they might do after school (Eduardo shrugged, Mark apparently simply wasn’t ready to share that sensitive information yet); and what their duties to the marriage would be (Mark had readily scratched down ‘defence’, Eduardo had simply…shrugged again).

The grapevine, better known as Christy Lee, had plenty of information about Tyler’s negotiation meetings. Allegedly Eduardo had agreed to raise no less than two children (neither permitted to be Saverin blood); had agreed to refrain from taking any work (after all, as the gossip said, he wouldn’t be useful for anything, near squib that he was, so embarrassing); would be inheriting at least one and a half million galleons (all of which would go to the Winklevosses family line); and had agreed to meet Tyler’s every whim (apparently the whispers had enthused that even if Tyler merely wanted a swift helping hand in the middle of Transfigurations, Eduardo would be obliged by contract to follow him to the Prefect’s bathroom and fall to his knees post haste).

Christy had almost lost a finger for that one, saved only by Chris hauling Mark back and reminding him that Pureblood Code required that he actually be married to the person insulted before he could start taking digits in their name.

_[13-14th meetings of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

Dustin suggesting they take a sly outing in the name of reconnaissance went down well with everyone. The entire group was done with Eduardo&Mark and the evils of the Winklevii being the only topic of conversation for the last two months.

“I’ll run the risk assessment,” Dustin had wheedled. “I just wanna see if a couple of places I’ve remembered would work as emergency apparition points.”

“Fine,” Chris had said, glancing sidelong at Mark who was chipping away at the edge of the oak table with wordless little wand slashes. He had his ever present parchment scrolls in front of him. Even Christy knew better than to mess with them – Mark was tracking literally everything about his courtship. From all accounts, his dorm room had begun to take on the appearance of a war room, and the other sixth year Slytherins that shared with him were on the verge of revolt.

“He needs a break.” Chris agreed quickly.

“Where the hell are we?” Erica said, stepping away from Dustin, and turning in a circle.

They were in a tight green clearing, corralled in by some kind of tall waving crop on all sides and a clear blue sky above.

Dustin squinted upward at the sun and leapt in place a couple of times. “I’m not tall enough,” he complained. “But I bet these fields go for miles. Where the hell are we?”

“The countryside,” Christy said wryly, wrinkling her nose. She kicked at the tall grass around her. “Oh, clover. Nice.” She sat down, squashing the grass around her into a serviceable backrest. “Well, while we’re here, we might as well rest. I don’t know about you lot, but I think I’m developing wand elbow.” She threw a couple of practice hex gestures in example, wincing.

Dustin threw himself down in the grass next. “I think I know where we are. My parents took us on an English countryside trip once. I didn’t know what crops were, and my mum told me this stuff was what bread came from.” He rubbed his stomach, grinning. “Anything about food, and I’m all ears, so it went pretty well.”

“Jokes on you, this stuff’s corn, not wheat,” Christy snorted.

Dustin aimed an imaginary slap at her and flopped back down, patting the grass and gesturing at Mark and Chris. Erica had already managed to make it to the fence at the far end of the clearing and was trekking back now.

“We should get back,” Mark said.

Dustin and Christy snorted in unison, and Chris grinned widely as he lowered himself into the grass.

“Calm down Zuckerberg,” Christy said, “you know, if you keep working your wand like that, you’ll go blind.”

Chris snorted this time too.

Erica stumbled back and flopped down in the long grass beside them. “We’re right in the middle of a huge crop,” she said. “I’m pretty sure this field is being rested for use next season. Next summer the next field over should be bare like this instead.”

“We should use this as a checkpoint,” Dustin said lazily. “Nobody would think to ambush us here.”

The others murmured agreement, eyes sliding shut in the mid-afternoon warmth.

“I need to get back,” Mark said, interrupting the moment.

Everyone groaned, and began the slow work of standing up again.

“I swear you’ve become even more insufferable,” Christy complained.

“We should never have introduced him to Eduardo.” Dustin agreed. “Mark-“

“-Always ruins everything,” Chris and Erica said in unison.

Mark glowered. “I have to offer the final settlement, idiots.”

In the end, Eduardo opted for the duel settlement.  It didn’t worry Mark. He had expected it, and had long suspected that despite the magical emancipation, Lord Saverin had likely been dictating Eduardo’s decisions throughout the courting period. There was no way that Eduardo would be about to disobey his father’s orders when it was possible that he could end up bonded to the Winklevosses, and therefore still firmly under his father’s thumb.

Both Eduardo’s parents were invited to the duel, as were Mark’s and the Winklevosses. Tyler’s twin, Cameron, was also present. Upon entering the room that had been put aside for the event, he actually put his hand out to shake Mark’s. “May the best wizard win,” Cameron said, with a smile that stunk of good sportsmanship. Mark wrinkled his nose, only returning the traditional Pureblood grip for a moment that imparted the barest of courtesies.

People called Mark cold-blooded, but he couldn’t understand the pure ice that must run in the veins of a man who could treat a marriage duel like a Quidditch match. When Mark had attended Randi’s wedding, he’d been sure to fix her bridegroom with a look that promised serious reprisal should he mess her around. And that had been a love match.

He saw his mother and father too, who both hugged him in turn. He had only spoken to them via owl so far, and they were taking the reality of the situation well, considering he had basically informed them that he would be marrying a complete stranger today.

His mother tried to smooth his hair down a little, kissing both his cheeks. “Do your best, Mark. I look forward to meeting anyone you care this much about.” Then she fixed him with a stern stare, “Don’t you lose. I don’t want that poor boy going home with that lot.” She jerked her chin towards the Winklevosses and the Saverins, who were greeting each other with typical Pureblood pomp and traditional bows.

Mark nodded, and moved on to his father, who managed to pick up him a little in his bear hug, despite their similar heights. Mark had to mentally count his ribs afterwards to check they were all still intact. “Don’t be afraid to fight Muggle,” his father whispered as he set him down. “They never see it coming. Worked a treat when I used to get into scrapes.”

Mark couldn’t hold back a sly grin at that. “I’ll remember that,” he said.

He gestured at his friends, already seated along the edge of the chamber. “If you’d like to join my friends,” he said.

His mother looked at him speculatively. “So many supporters,” she said. “You must be popular to have this many friends in support of a forced marriage rite.”

Mark shrugged. “It’s more about how much they hate the other party,” he said, honestly.

“Hm,” his mother said. “And don’t think we won’t still be having words about this afterwards,” she said. “It’s still a nasty, Dark thing you’ve done, trapping the poor boy.”

“I know.” Mark said, leading them over to the seating. He considered his choices, and ensured they were seated directly in front of Dustin and Chris, with Erica as a buffer zone between them and Christy.

Dumbledore, Sprout, and Snape came in next, and set about greeting and rearranging the space in the centre of the chamber. Sprout did not seem happy at all from the way she was viciously banishing furniture across the room. No doubt she was not impressed with the rites business either.

Eduardo came in last of all, dressed in his best black robes, shiny black shoes and his pristine yellow scarf. His thick brown hair was slightly more tamed than usual, still voluminous, but pushed back with a carefully light application of gel. He was hurried in his movements, and his eyes were wider than usual. The sight of his father at the other end of the chamber only seemed to throw him further.

Mark tore his eyes away, only to see his mother raise her brows very deliberately at him and purse her lips just so in her long practiced indication of approval. His father was also nodding slowly in appraisal. Mark saw Chris duck forward to exchange dialogue with the two of them, grinning widely, his eyes also running over Eduardo’s appearance.

Mark frowned and turned on his heel to stride towards the rest of the people he needed to greet. He exchanged cursory hand grips with the Winklevosses, then with Eduardo’s mother, who seemed about as aware as a woman half asleep.  Finally he found himself locked in handshake with Lord Saverin himself.  He forced himself to grip hard, and did his best to lead the shake, though they were certainly well matched. Lord Saverin managed to meet his eyes during the last gesture, and he received a grim smile. “Well,” Lord Saverin said. “I suppose we must find out who the better wizard is today.”

“Yes,” Mark agreed, carefully.

“Should you win,” Saverin said, tightening his grip, “I only ask that you not spare the boy.” He clasped his other hand around their handshake, pressing a small leathery pouch into Mark’s palm. “A token to show my appreciation for your efforts.”

Mark’s entire being recoiled. It was the best he could do to remain joined to Lord Saverin by the hand. Disgust began to fill him, and he nearly tore himself loose, wishing he hadn’t had to shake with his wand hand. It felt soiled now.

He drew away slowly instead, as tradition demanded. Lord Saverin followed him with amused eyes, clearly knowing the reaction he had engendered. Mark walked on, as if nothing untoward had happened, and greeted his Head of House, Eduardo’s Head of House, and the Headmaster politely in turn.

Tyler came around to do the same, and Mark watched him exchange greetings with Lord Saverin, and saw the hand clasp again, the gifting of the token. Tyler’s response to the whispered request was a smirk, and a pocketing of the pouch, and that was enough to send Mark across the chamber back to his supporters.  

He vanished the pouch he’d been given, shaking his head when his father looked askance at his furtive spell.  “Could you scourgify my hand?” he asked instead.

“It’s clean, Mark,” his father said, mouth quirking with the obvious desire to ask what was going on.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Mark told him, eyes darting back to where the Saverins were still engaged in conversation with the Winklevosses.

His father frowned in understanding and flicked a truly thorough Scourgify over his outreached hands, the bubbles thick and cleansing.

Mark sat down next to him then, stuffing his hands into his robe pockets to keep from fidgeting.  Saverin’s disgusting gift had sparked a rage in him that he was not often privy to. He could remember this rage from his childhood – his accidental magic had always erupted during moments of extreme anger.  He felt good about it today though. It felt like power. It felt like he might be able to throw his hatred at Tyler Winklevoss, and that his magic would take care of the rest – that it would not stop until he was ground into a pulpy mess. The way he’d smirked at Saverin’s payment – and that was what it had been – it made something in Mark thirst for blood.

“Mark.”

Mark looked up, shaking off the images of Tyler crying blood as he begged for mercy, of Saverin’s ashy face as Mark took his son from him, and found that Eduardo was standing in front of him.

“Mark,” Eduardo said again, smiling faintly, but his true expression was pale and hunted.

Mark stood up immediately, and took Eduardo’s hand, brushing their hands through the motions carelessly. “Are you alright?” he said, instead of the traditional greetings.

Eduardo swallowed. “I’m good,” he said. “I was just greeting everyone, and I wanted to greet you last-”. The handshake ended, but Eduardo left his hand in Mark’s, fingers curling in naturally, tangling with Mark’s. “Please, if you can manage it, win?” he whispered.

Mark blinked. “There was never any question of it,” he said, dumbly. “Of course I’m going to win.”

Eduardo extricated his hand then, and Mark may have imagined it, but it felt to him like he went with longing.

Eduardo went to sit between Sprout and Dumbledore, and turned to arranging his robes busily until the rest of the chamber began to take their seats.

“You had better keep your promise to that boy,” Mark’s father said to him under his breath.

“I will,” Mark insisted, his hands going back into his pockets and gripping at his wand ruthlessly.

“He sounds like he doesn’t have many choices,” Mark’s father said.  “The Winklevosses are considered rather noble, but he sounds set on you, Mark.”

Mark’s spine stiffened. “They’re not honourable,” he said. “If you heard the things I’ve heard, if you saw Tyler-” he stopped, pressing his lips together, intent on keeping Lord Saverin’s request a secret.  Hearing something like that about his father would kill Eduardo. He couldn’t risk that information coming to Eduardo because of his loose lips.

“Alright, son,” Mark’s father said, patting his knee briefly. “Then you know what you need to do, don’t you?”

Mark nodded, and rose as Dumbledore and Tyler did.

“Good luck,” Dustin, Chris, and Erica hissed almost in unison. Christy simply raised her hand in a complicated Pureblood salute. Naturally, it was one that instructed: ‘Never stay your sword, Never lower your wand’.  He jerked his head at her to acknowledge her well wish, and raised his hand briefly to acknowledge the others.

Mark took his place on the long, rectangular duelling pitch, taking note of the iridescent lines that marked their boundaries.

He pushed a foot back behind him and bent his knees, lifting his wand arm to cover his throat and face.

Tyler took a similar stance, but grounded himself even further, dropping to one knee on the hard floor.

“Duelists, ready.” Dumbledore announced.

They both nodded.

“Then, begin.”

The iridescent lines that surrounded them blazed blue and tall.

Mark immediately cast a shield, curling his shoulders to strengthen it with sheer will. Tyler’s initial hexes bounced off of it, having been cast quickly, but fast enough to traverse the space between them before Mark had shielded.

Remaining in his first stance, Tyler wound up a couple of high power curses and hurled them. The audience winced as they met the outskirts of Mark’s shield with thick cascades of sparks. Mark didn’t twitch, and Tyler nodded to himself, and pulled his wand back in an entirely different formation.

The stones beneath them began to tremble a little, and dust started to lift into the air in a thin sheet. Their audience began to murmur, only to burst into surprised cries as Tyler began hurling furniture, both conjured and levitated from storage at the far end of the chamber.

Mark leapt out of his protective stance, dodging the heaviest of the pieces. He let the lighter chairs bounce off his shield and shatter on their side of him. Their weight was no danger to the integrity of his casting, in the way the immense weight of the sideboards and long tables were. Splinters showered him nonetheless, some of the quicker ones breaching the thinly spread back end of the shielding. They dashed his ankles and calves the worst, and a couple glanced across the skin of his neck and cheek, leaving tiny bloody welts in their wake.

Tyler ran out of furniture quickly, and Mark took his chance. He lifted his wand high and hurtled down the pitch, pushing everything he had into his _Protego_ shield. The sudden sprint had the coppery taste of blood rising in his throat at every jagged breath. He ignored it, and concentrated on how lucky he was to be half a foot shorter than Tyler.

He dropped the shield when he could see the whites of Tyler’s bemused eyes and watched them change to horror as he wrenched his knee up between Tyler’s legs, impacting on Tyler’s groin with the velocity of his entire run up.

Distantly, Mark heard his father whoop and applaud, and Christy’s distinctive laughter. He leapt back, and relieved Tyler of his wand before slamming him with a body locking spell. Only then did he step back, panting, two wands now trained on Tyler.

Mark looked up at his judges and back down, unwilling to leave his opponent unsupervised. “Is that all you need?” he said, losing half the consonants to his rough voice. “Do you want me to cut him, too? It would be merciless.”

The chamber was silent apart from Mark’s gasps for breath, and his footfalls as he paced next to Tyler’s prone form. He was still filled with adrenaline. It felt as if he could order the rest of them onto the pitch one after the other, and floor them too. It felt like it would be child’s play.

He glanced at Lord Saverin and then at Eduardo.  He thought about which spell he might utilise. There was a nasty slicing spell slipping around the school. It would feel good to see Tyler laid open for them all to see his disgusting innards. Then Lord Saverin, and anyone else who stood in his way.

“No, no, Mr. Zuckerberg. I think you’ve illustrated your competency quite well enough.” Dumbledore rose and came to lead him off the pitch, walking him clear of the boundary lines before he went back to collect Tyler.  He broke the body bind charm and helped Tyler to his feet slowly.

Mark ran his tongue over his lips and kept one eye on Tyler, straying back to Eduardo every few seconds. The rites were doing something, he realised, as his heart rate dropped. The battle rage cooled, and another heat began to replace it.

“Now, if Mr Saverin would finalise the rites, we can complete everything before dinner!” Dumbledore said, sounding remarkably calm for an old man grasping two bloodied seventeen year olds by the shoulders.

Eduardo stood up, pushing himself up by the arms of his chair. His face was chalky, and his eyes huge. “Yes,” he said, walking quickly to stand in front of Dumbledore, his back to the Winklevosses and his parents.

“Who do you select, as is your right?” Dumbledore said, the words laced with old power.

Eduardo visibly trembled and froze for a moment, eyes darting from Mark to Tyler. After a moment he seemed to gather himself and he extended his hand.

“Mark Zuckerberg,” he said, shaking even as he said the binding words.

Mark shook off Dumbledore’s grip and stepped forward to take up Eduardo’s hand in both of his own.  He dragged his whole arm into the sweaty heaving robes over his chest.  “I accept you,” he said, voice rough.

“Very well,” Dumbledore boomed, startling them all out of the heavy pull of single minded focus that the marriage rites demanded.  

Tyler nodded jerkily and trudged back to his family, limping slightly at every second step. His brother clapped him gently on the back, missing their father’s disapproving look at Lord Saverin. They said their congratulations briefly and politely, and left immediately as was traditional of the losing party.

Lord Saverin approached next, and Mark narrowed his eyes and pulled Eduardo to his side, grasp on his hand looser, but still obvious.

“Congratulations, Mr Zuckerberg,” Saverin said to Mark. “I do hope you enjoy married life, as discussed.”

Mark said nothing in response, the only indication that he’d heard his fingers curling slightly tighter around Eduardo’s wrist.

“And you-” Saverin addressed his son. “For as long as you are without honour, you are no longer a Saverin. Consider yourself banished and removed from the family tapestry. Your cousin will replace you in your duties. Expect any communications between our houses to be burnt on arrival.”

Eduardo seemed to shrink in on himself slightly, but he did well not to answer. The Saverins left immediately, a gesture that very clearly informed the entire room as to their opinion of the union.

Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Professor Sprout said their congratulations swiftly before taking their own leave. “Don’t be late for dinner,” Dumbledore said to the room at large as he paused at the doorway. “It would be a tragedy to have a wedding without a feast.”

Mark’s father rubbed his hands as he approached them. “I only came in the hopes of an invitation to dinner,” he joked.

Mark rolled his eyes.

“But seriously,” Mr Zuckerberg said. “We’re so pleased to have you join us, Eduardo.”

Eduardo started, and glanced up from Mark’s grip on his hand. “I’m – thank you,” he said in reply. “I hope I can be an asset to your family.”

Mrs Zuckerberg laughed, “Are you kidding? You’ve already singlehandedly made us the most attractive family on our block.”

Eduardo blushed.

“I’d hug you, dear,” Mrs Zuckerberg went on, grinning, “But I’m afraid Mark wouldn’t be able to cope with that yet.” She indicated at the death grip Mark had on Eduardo’s hand, which had now spread to a clutched handful of his robes as well.  “Next time, perhaps,” she smiled.

Eduardo dropped his chin, hiding a smile. “Thank you, Mrs Zuckerberg.”

“Karen, please,” she said, emphatically.

“I’m Edward,” Mr Zuckerberg added.  

“Alright,” Eduardo said, face brightening a little.

“You can meet Mark’s sisters in summer,” Edward said. “They’re furious that they aren’t old enough to attend the duel. It was a pity Randi couldn’t leave the baby, I think she was looking forward to meeting you the most of all of us.”

Mark fidgeted a little, and Karen pulled at her husband’s sleeve. “We’ll go to dinner now,” she said. “I’m sure the rites have waited long enough.” She winked at Mark, to his horror.

“We’ll take you down,” Chris volunteered, “although I’m sure you remember.”

“Nobody forgets their way around Hogwarts,” Karen agreed. “But we’ll indulge you today,” she joked, gesturing at him to lead the way.

Chris and the others gave them a wave and left, the Zuckerbergs close on their heels. Christy was the last out the door, and she paused before sighing and leaving too.

The chamber was finally empty.  There was still blood where Mark had been struck by splintered furniture, and again where he had felled Tyler to the hard stone flagons. The rites were eating it up - Mark could feel it strengthening the bonds with the heady boost of blood magic.

“What do we do now?” Eduardo said, clearly nervous.

Mark eyed the slowly disappearing blood. “The rites are hoping that we’ll decide to consummate here and now.”

“Seriously?” Eduardo said, staring at Mark.

“We don’t have to,” Mark said. “It’s just something I can feel that the rites would like. Obviously, the Headmaster and my parents wouldn’t consider it out of the ordinary either, judging from the speed at which they cleared the room.”

Eduardo made a face.

“The rites don’t care much about privacy.” Mark shrugged.

“The rites don’t seem to care much about anything,” Eduardo muttered.

Mark shrugged again in agreement. “It’s just magic with a purpose. It’s not sentient.”

“Do you want to….here?” Eduardo said suddenly.

Mark blinked. “Depends what you’re asking,” he said. “The rites are urging me to consummate them with you right now, ideally over there, on top of that bloodstain.” He pointed, eyes darkening as he acknowledged the location out loud.

Eduardo stared, open mouthed.

“If you disagree with that, however, the rites are agreeable to taking you somewhere you would be more comfortable, and consummating with you there instead.”

“How many times are you going to say the word ‘consummate’?” Eduardo said, looking anywhere but at Mark.

“Trust me when I tell you that ‘consummate’ is the least objectionable of the words that the rites are planting in my head,” Mark said awkwardly.

“Oh,” Eduardo said. “Uh. Maybe we should go to our chambers.”

“You don’t want me to…here?” Mark said absently. He resisted Eduardo’s pull at his arm.

The blood in the room was almost singing to him. It was begging him to lay Eduardo down in it, on top of the regretfully dry stains. It would be ideal, he knew instinctively, to undress Eduardo here in this room, to have him bared to the cool air and hard floor, to press him into cold stone and tacky blood.

He could gentle him with warm hands and conjured oils. Open him up with long, slow moving fingers and promises. He’d turn him onto his chest and forearms, teach him to listen to his body’s natural urge to display himself, hips high and tilted for breaching.  

He’d press inside of him, blunt and careful, eventually graduating to stretching him out with hard thrusts when he began to whimper for more. Then he wouldn’t spare the boy-

Mark shook himself violently out of his lusty vagary, acidic nausea suddenly high in his throat.

They were standing over the bloodstain Tyler had left. Mark must have dragged Eduardo across the room, the rites having enraptured him, body and mind.

“Mark?” Eduardo said. He sounded nervous, but he was fully clothed, at least. Not a hair out of place, unlike the imaginary Eduardo he had been debauching.

“Mark, I don’t want to do it here,” he said, pulling at Mark’s arm again.

“No,” Mark said in agreement. “Let’s go.”

The chambers they had been given were modest, but comfortable. They were dungeon chambers, approximately the same distance from both Slytherin and Hufflepuff.  They contained both a modest sitting room and a large bedroom with a small serviceable bathroom attached. Their personal belongings had already been moved by house elves, although Mark made a note to go back to Slytherin to check for more of his belongings. The house elves would no doubt have seen fit to accidentally leave at least a few items behind.

The exploration of their chambers could only distract them for a short time though, and before Mark could think better of it, he found himself with his hands on Eduardo’s sides, trying to gently direct him onto the four poster bed.

“Do we have to?” Eduardo said, then realised what he was saying and swallowed hard in an attempt to stave off the flush traversing his throat and cheeks. “I mean, do we have to do that tonight?”

Mark frowned. “It’s kind of the point,” he said. “We have to consummate the marriage and the rites at the same time, to assure Magic that we aren’t trying to manipulate the marriage laws and privileges.”

“Privileges?” Eduardo said, shifting on the blankets uncomfortably. “You mean like taxes and income laws?”

Mark stared at him for a moment in frank disbelief.

“What?” Eduardo said, annoyed.

Mark shook his head slowly. “Exactly how much have your parents told you about what will happen when you get married?”

Eduardo flushed darker. “Just, the obvious!” he said defensively. “They were going to arrange someone appropriate, and then I would live with them instead and have a job and help them, and, and probably you know-”

“You know?” Mark said, unkindly, smirking at the euphemism.

Eduardo glared. “Have sex with them,” he clarified.

Mark twisted his lips thoughtfully. “Maybe I should get Chris to explain it to you.”

Eduardo stared at him. “What are you talking about? I know how to – I know what to do when we – you know. I’m not a child, I’m older than you!”

“It’s not that,” Mark said. “It’s just that you have no idea why your parents were so eager to marry you off.”

Eduardo fixed his gaze on the oak chest against the opposite wall. “I’m sure you can imagine why they’d want to be rid of me,” he said shortly.

“Look.” Mark said. “Your father said, when I informed him of my suit, that should you remain…powerless even after receiving my ‘tender mercies’-“, here Mark used his fingers to indicate the direct quotation from Lord Saverin, and Eduardo frowned,  “then you would be my problem from then on.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Eduardo said, “I’ve always been useless, the fact’s not about to change.”

Mark smirked again at that. “To the contrary,” he said. “Squibs have a long history of occasionally gaining power after marrying and then sleeping with more powerful wizards and witches.”

“They what?” Eduardo said flatly.

“I hate to break it to you, but,” Mark said, unable to wipe the smile off of his face now that he had realised exactly the nature of the news he was going to get to break to Eduardo. “Your parents have been planning your entire life to marry you off to a powerful wizard who will willingly attempt to fuck some magic into you.”

Eduardo froze, his huge eyes wide.

“Anyway, that isn’t the point,” Mark said. “We should consummate now,” he shivered a little this time at the words, shifting to hide the erection he could no longer will downwards.

“No way,” Eduardo choked out, shoving Mark’s hands away from him.

“What do you get out of this,” Eduardo said. “Are they paying you? How many hundreds of Galleons did it take to get you to pity me enough to marry me, let alone sleep with me?”

Mark recoiled again at the memory of the pouch Lord Saverin had slipped him.

“As if I would accept their money,” he said, words dripping with disgust.  “Believe it or not, I actually like you and your stupid hair and ridiculous eyes, and you – your flickering.”

Eduardo’s face twisted with irritation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”   
  
He laid down and rolled onto his side, turned away from Mark. “How much did they pay you?” He said again, words muffled by the blankets.

“They didn’t,” Mark lied. Though, it wasn’t really lying. He’d vanished that money.

Eduardo breathed deeply for a few minutes. Mark took the chance to strip off his soiled clothes and shoes, climbing back onto the bed in only his underwear. He got under the blankets and laid back against the pillow, and the candles began to snuff themselves out. The rites were still plucking at him, and his dick was still hard and aching, despite his sleepiness.

“I still like you,” Eduardo said, long after the last candle had been snuffed, though he didn’t turn over.

Mark eventually slept, but when he woke again he knew it had only been a few hours. The sunlight was streaming through the window, but it was still weak and pale yellow. The rites hurt now. Mark felt itchy under his entire skin, like an army of ants was on the march, pricking every pore and hair of his body. His dick was the same, only it was hot and swollen too. The heat of Eduardo’s long lean body beside him was tantalising, but he refused to touch him yet. He would touch him when he asked for it, and not before. This marriage had already filled with more enmity than Mark had thought possible, and it hadn’t even been a full day.

Eduardo finally turned over, and Mark held his breath in misplaced anticipation. Eduardo was just rolling over in his sleep. His features were even softer like this, although his eyes were puffy from the late night, and - Mark had to acknowledge it - from Mark upsetting him. Eduardo shuffled over a little, stealing the edge of Mark’s pillow. He was unconsciously searching for heat, Mark realised. He pulled the blankets a little higher over their shoulders, and the movement woke Eduardo. His eyes opened slowly, and he smiled sleepily at Mark for a moment. Mark had to resist the urge to prod at his soft pillow creased cheeks.

The smile disappeared rapidly though, as Eduardo woke properly. He drew away from Mark almost immediately, a guarded expression going up over his face.

They lay still for a moment, Mark staring at Eduardo’s still distraught face, his skin burning ten times worse now that Eduardo was awake.

He rose after a moment, and went into the bathroom without a word. Mark heard the shower going, and he rolled over, groaning as even the cool sheets refused to soothe his itching skin.

Thankfully, it was a Sunday, because Mark was not in the mood for sitting through five hours of organized staring. He went to collect the half of his belongings the house elves had conveniently neglected to pack for him, and after a frustrating hour locating the mates to the rest of his shoes he gave in and headed up to the Room of Requirement.

_[15th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH; DM; EA; CL_

Dustin tried to start a round of applause when he came in, but Mark and Erica’s combined glares put an end to it before Christy caught on.

“He did win,” Dustin pouted. “And what a win.”

Chris looked at him wordlessly and then turned his endlessly terrifying expectant stare on Mark. “Well?”

“What,” Mark muttered uncomfortably.

Chris tsked but let him alone.

“You were so intense,” Dustin went on, laying his chin on his hands.

“It wasn’t that great,” Mark shrugged. “It was hardly my best effort,” he said honestly.

“Yeah, threatening to kill someone in front of the Headmaster wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Erica said dryly.

“I didn’t,” Mark protested. “I barely hit him.”

“You said you were going to gut him in front of us,” Dustin said, point blank. “It was not a particularly Light moment for you.”

“I said that out loud?” Mark said, confused.

The others all nodded, eyes averted.

“It was really cool?” Christy offered. “The Winklevii are never going to mess with you again.”

“It was scary,” Erica said. Dustin nodded in agreement.

“Alright,” Mark said, uncertain what to do with that information. “I was – It was just battle lust.”

Chris looked unconvinced, but Christy nodded in understanding.

“Whatever,” she said, decidedly. “What I really wanted to discuss is your honeymoon.” She rubbed her hands together with glee.

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Chris said, looking to Erica. “You should take a break from planning for a while. Get to know each other properly.”

Mark frowned.

“We’re all in agreement,” Chris said firmly.

Mark sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But you better have some really nasty traps ready for next time we go out.” He pointed at Dustin threateningly.

“Something that won’t let them think straight,” Mark said, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Maybe some kind of extreme itching charm. But other things too. Much worse. Perhaps a needle-like sensation.”

“I see,” Christy said, an eyebrow raised as she followed Mark’s hands as they rubbed first at his forearms and wrists, then over his thighs and knees.

Mark glared at her.

“I think we’ve done enough,” Christy announced. “We should adjourn early. As part of the wedding celebrations.” She smirked at the others until they caught on.

They took their leave slowly, whistling and winking at Mark until Christy was the only one left.

“You really need to take care of that,” she said, nodding towards his crotch with a wide grin.

“Well, maybe I could if you wouldn’t mind?” Mark grumbled back, pointing at the door.

“Oh no, no,” Christy said. “That won’t do, you need the real thing. You should have taken advantage of the duelling room yesterday.”

“Eduardo didn’t want to,” Mark said.

Christy shrugged. “He would have if you weren’t so grim about everything. Honestly, with a rite like that, all you need to do is stroke him a little and he’ll put himself under you.”

“He didn’t know about the…squib thing, either,” Mark said, ignoring her vulgarity.

“Really?” Christy said. “Well, I suppose Lord Saverin really did have him right under his thumb,” she mused. “That was last night, though,” she said. “I’m sure he feels better about it now.”

Mark frowned. “Are you going to leave now?”

Christy grinned and rocked back and forward on her feet for a few seconds before laughing and grabbing her cloak. “I’m not kidding about that,” she said. “You better go make up with him.”

He didn’t. Well, he didn’t bring up consummation, at any rate. He certainly took to showering a lot more frequently than usual, and he was perfectly civil to Eduardo in their quarters. It helped that every time Eduardo caught him staring hungrily at him Eduardo would smile back and flush involuntarily before excusing himself from the room. It was driving Mark insane, but it was very effective in ensuring he didn’t simply push Eduardo up against the nearest wall and ravage him.

It could only work so many times though, apparently.

“You’re in pain,” Eduardo said, touching the back of Mark’s hand. His eyes were big and full of concern. Mark squinted his own almost closed so he wouldn’t have to look at them. Just seeing Eduardo’s face was almost excruciating at this point.

“I’m fine,” Mark gritted out. He would be alright as long as he managed to get a moment alone to slake the desire again. It was less effective now – for the first couple of days jerking off had abated the pain for hours at a time, even longer if he let himself think of Eduardo’s face, his bare legs, his heat.

Now it was diminishing – the magic learning that despite his thoughts, he was not touching the real thing. Now thinking of Eduardo, even vividly imagining what he might do with Eduardo, to Eduardo – it was becoming painful too.  He had escaped to the bathrooms after lunch, and taken hold of himself as he pictured them together, Eduardo pressed into the blankets of their bed, his legs pinned wide, his mouth pink and gasping, his hole full and straining as Mark took him. He came hard at the imagining, the orgasm wrenching pleasure from him as well as an agony that left him shaking for a quarter of an hour, nerves completely shot.

He resisted the warm siren call of Eduardo’s hand, pushing him away and standing up on legs that felt weaker than those of a lamb.

Eduardo stared at him. “You’re pale,” he said. “You’re shaking, Mark.”

“I’m fine,” Mark said. “You’re imagining it.” He ruined the illusion of strength with his abrupt need to sit back down. “I just need to sleep it off,’ he said. “Feel free to go back to Hufflepuff again tonight.”

Eduardo pressed his lips together for a moment and looked angry enough that it seemed as if he was about to do exactly that. “It’s the rites,” he said then.

“It’s nothing,” Mark snapped.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” Eduardo yelled right back. He stood there for a moment and then his shoulders dropped almost immediately. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

Mark grunted.

“I could-”, Eduardo said awkwardly, gesturing toward Mark.

Mark fixed him with a glare. “I don’t want your pity,” he said.

“Well, that’s too bad, I guess,” Eduardo said, as he came over and clamped his hands over Mark’s white knuckled hands on the arms of the chair. He stooped and leaned in to look into Mark’s face, raising an eyebrow at his pinched lips. “Don’t tell me you’ll refuse a kiss after all of this?”

Mark rolled his eyes and winced at the heat prickling at his wrists where Eduardo’s skin was in contact with his own. “I don’t think anyone would refuse a kiss from you,” he said grudgingly.

“Flatterer,” Eduardo breathed against his cheek. “Do you want your kiss or not?”

Mark jerked his face to the side and pressed their lips together immediately, surprising a gasp out of Eduardo at first, but then a more confident lap at the inside of his lip. He immediately surrendered his mouth to Eduardo, staying stock still as Eduardo licked carefully at his lips and brushed them together over and over.

It was painful, Mark found, but a better pain, a lesser pain. It felt like the magic was simply admonishing now, as if to say, ‘You see? This is what you are to do’.

Eduardo pulled away then and stared at Mark instead, mouth as pink as Mark had imagined earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Mark blinked, and licked his lips, twitching as his tongue ran over skin imbued with punishing magic.

“I’m sorry?” he parroted back, unsure what it was that they were apologising for.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, when I should have known how much it would hurt you,” Eduardo said quickly. “I didn’t think the rites felt so awful.”

“Well, they do,” Mark said, dumbly.

Eduardo was still staring even now. He let go of Mark’s hands, instead sliding his fingers up his arms, over the thick sleeves to his shoulders. “I think…” he started, but stopped there, his lips still slightly parted. He leaned in again, and Mark tipped his head back, expecting another kiss. Instead Eduardo hiked up his robe and slung a leg over Mark’s thighs, dropping slowly into his lap. Then he did kiss Mark again, this time harder, pushing his tongue a little deeper as he explored.

Mark’s whole body tingled, and he found himself with one hand wrapped around the back of Eduardo’s neck, the other arm tucked around his lower back, pulling him closer against his crotch in hurried pulls.

“Oh – sorry?” Eduardo said again when he managed to pull back, eyes dilated to almost black. He was shivering a little, but he made no move to climb out of Mark’s embrace.

“It’s fine,” Mark said, although clearly it was far more than fine. The pain was changing its form, tingling like heat now – still uncomfortable – but far more pleasant than its former immobilising agony.

“I want to,” Eduardo said, and he paused, the skin from the opening of his robes to the backs of his ears blushing. “I’m sorry I was angry with you before. I do like you better than Tyler, you know.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the prickle in his hands that was compelling him to slide them under Eduardo’s robes. “Of course you like me better than Tyler fucking Winklevoss. He’s an oaf.”

Eduardo shrugged, and the minute lift and settling of his weight in Mark’s lap was excruciatingly arousing. “I mean, I like you a lot more,” he said, voice lower this time. “I’m not mad about the rites anymore.”

“Really?” Mark said, doubtfully.

Eduardo shrugged. “I guess it all worked out alright in the end,” he said.  “It was a shitty thing to do, but I don’t regret it, if you really do like me.”

“I do,” Mark said. He pushed Eduardo’s robes up to his waist, and waited patiently as Eduardo unbuttoned them before he pushed them off his shoulders and onto the floor.

“Really?” Eduardo asked, pushing at Mark’s clothes in turn.

“Yes,” Mark said, letting Eduardo rid him of his shirt and robe. They bunched behind him in the chair. Eduardo’s hands strayed to his trousers next, unbuttoning them shyly with light touches that Mark could hardly bear to sit still for. Eduardo pulled the cloth open slowly, and just looked at Mark’s dick. Mark hardened a little under his gaze, and Eduardo blushed.

“Well?” Mark said, dryly.

Eduardo’s eyes flicked up to meet his instantly. “You look - really good,” he stammered.

Mark smiled.  “So do you.”

Eduardo took Mark’s dick in hand and ran his thumb down the length, smiling when Mark hissed and shifted under him.

“Will you let me?” Mark asked him.

“Let you what?” Eduardo asked, pink touching his cheeks.

Mark groaned. He pushed his hard dick against Eduardo’s stomach. “Fuck you,” he said finally. “I want to fuck you.”

Eduardo trembled. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes.”

Mark surged up, lifting Eduardo with him and tossed him down into the unmade bed beside them.

“What if you get your magic?” Mark said.

“That’s fine with me,” Eduardo laughed, wriggling out of his underwear and socks. He looked at Mark when he didn’t reply. “Do you not want me to?”

Mark snorted. “Of course I do. If you get your magic though,” he paused awkwardly. “I won’t let your father take you back.”

Eduardo put down his sock, unable to hide his grin. “I won’t go,” he said. “I’m glad he disowned me.” He reached for Mark’s hand, and pressed it against his cheek. “I’d rather be a Zuckerberg squib than go back to that house. Just saying.”

Mark kissed him then, rolling him all the way back into the pillows in the process. The tingle of they rites finally burst into full blown arousal. The only thing that was painful now was how hard Mark’s dick was, and how desperately he wanted to have it already pounding into Eduardo.

He broke the wet kiss and fumbled Eduardo’s legs apart, casting softly under his breath.

“So, do you want me to try?” Mark asked, setting his wand down on the bedside table closest.

“The magic thing?” Eduardo said. He pressed back up against Mark’s warm skin, shivering as the slick oil he’d filled him with began to escape him. “Okay – but – Merlin, do it now, Mark.”

Mark smirked and urged Eduardo over onto his stomach. His fingers skated through the oil that was already sliding out of Eduardo’s hole.  He pressed just one finger against him, gentle as he opened him up. It was easy, too easy to slide another finger, and then another in alongside it.

Eduardo sighed contentedly and pressed back against his hand.  “Now, Mark,” he said. “The magic - I think I feel it helping, but you have to do it now,” he begged.

Mark pushed into Eduardo steadily, mouth almost watering as he watched the head open him up, and then the shaft follow, sliding slickly into his tight body.

He swore softly as Eduardo shook beneath him and slowed to a halt.

“No,” Eduardo said, barely audible. His face was pillowed in his arms. “Please, Mark, keep going.”

He spread Eduardo’s thighs, urging him up onto his knees with purposeful thrusts and a tight grip on the flesh of his inner thigh. Eduardo went easily, gasping a little when the new position opened him wider but also tightened him up. He pressed his cheek against the crumpled green quilt and groaned as Mark pressed into him again and again.

It was such a strange feeling, he thought distantly. Mark was inside him, stretching him to fit exactly. It was exciting in an intimate way. The magic too, felt strange. He was prickling all over, and a pleasant warmth was growing in his stomach. He knew beyond a doubt, that he wouldn’t even have to touch himself to come. Mark’s touch was like lava, searing him at every point that they connected.

“Wardo,” Mark breathed.  Wardo turned his face to lock eyes with Mark. He was curled over his back, hair wet with sweat and sticking to his forehead. His eyes were almost black, and he was biting his lips hard as he thrust gently.

“Hm?” Wardo asked lazily. He stretched a little under Mark’s warm weight, tearing a full body shiver out of him. “It’s nice,” he said, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he felt Mark’s dick twitch inside him. “You feel so good, Mark.”

“Fuck,” Mark said then, forcing himself deep and coming convulsively. He felt Eduardo sob and shudder under him seconds later, reacting to the spray of the hot come as it filled him.

It felt like magic, Mark thought sleepily as he pulled away from Eduardo and got them both under the quilt. Sex with Eduardo felt just like magic.

Eduardo still couldn’t cast a _lumos_ when he woke up, but he didn’t seem to care much. Mark wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Slightly disappointed, but not with Eduardo. More like with his own dick, if that made any kind of sense.

“Just in case,” he said to Eduardo the next night, and the next. No matter how many times he took him to bed though, his magic didn’t improve. At least, if anything, it meant that neither of them had any reason to attempt to contact the Saverins again, something Mark was counterproductively pleased about.

“You don’t have to go to the Hufflepuff common room anymore,” Mark said to him after another week.

Eduardo kept petting his hair slowly, “I like it there,” he said sleepily. “It’s warm. There’s always food. Good study space.”

“You can study here,” Mark said, glancing over at his overloaded desk. “I’ll make you space.”

“Hmm,” Eduardo murmured in assent.

“Isn’t this warm?” He pressed back against Eduardo’s front.

“Yeah,” Eduardo agreed quietly. He dropped his hand to curl around Mark’s stomach. “Whatever you want, Mark.”

 

_[19th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CH_

“Don’t talk to him,” Mark said, stuffing shrunken traps into his robe pockets.

Chris paused. “Excuse me?” he said.

“Don’t talk to Eduardo,” Mark said again, and then paused to think a moment, ”and don’t talk about him to other people either.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Chris said in the calm tone that always meant he was about to lose it and start hexing the shit out of Mark at any second.

“I don’t like it.” Mark said, by way of explanation.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Chris said sarcastically. “So, I guess you’re going to hex anyone who talks to him alone from now on?”

Mark thought about it, wincing slightly when Chris kicked him.

“When we get back from this, we are going to have another meeting,” Chris said. “A meeting about exactly who the fuck you think you’re turning yourself into.”

Mark scoffed. “Concentrate on yourself,” he said. “I can’t fix your screw-ups in the field all the time.”

 


	2. Part 2

“They took Chris,” Mark said, face as grim as it ever was. He stalked around the room, pulling parchment out of drawers and pocketing quills and ink.

“Death eaters?” Eduardo asked, hands stiffening over the book.

“Wannabes,” Mark snorted, hurling a wad of paper over his shoulder onto the bed. “Your father was there, too.”

Eduardo felt his shoulders fold without his direction. “He knows Chris-”

Mark shook his head, “He’s well glamoured,” he said, talking over top of him, “we all were. They think he’s some clumsy local kid who’s wandered in by accident. The bad news is that makes him worthless. They won’t keep him alive for long.”

Eduardo dropped the book. He crossed to his chest, and threw it open, hauled out a bag, and started pushing things into it.

“Why do you have rope?” Mark asked after watching for a moment, hands still overflowing with chicken scratched parchment.

“You never know,” Eduardo shrugged, adding his blackest cloak, a small, sheathed dagger, a large sealed ampoule of water, and a couple of newsprint wrapped parcels.

“What are those?” Mark asked.

“Food,” Eduardo said briefly, closing the bag and taking it with him to the armchair, where he pulled his boots on and started lacing them with thick double knots.

Mark blinked and frowned suddenly. “Why do you have food stored in our chambers?” he said, voice flat.

Eduardo shrugged without looking up, pulling at his laces one final time. “So I can leave. Or hide. I’m not fit to make any kind of defensive stand in an emergency.”

“So you can leave?” Mark parroted blankly.

“Come on,” Eduardo said impatiently. “Leave the parchment, I know where they’ve taken Chris.”

He swung the bag onto his shoulders, and took Mark by the wrist. “Where are the others?”

“They’re-”, Mark stopped mid sentence. “How do you know there are others involved?”

Eduardo lifted an eyebrow. “Mark, if Chris is involved, there is no way that Dustin isn’t tagging along, at the very least.”

Mark had to admit that he couldn’t counter a fact like that. He nodded assent, and led on. “It’s a Room of Requirement,” he said quietly, and pushed their portrait door open. “I’ll have to show you how to get to the right one.”

They walked quickly, boots tapping on the stones beneath them and echoing before and behind them. At the intersection of the dungeon stairs and the entrance hall, they had to wait for some Prefects on watch to pass by in the direction of the dormitory towers.

They crossed the hall safely and leapt onto one of the moving staircases just as it began its slow ascent.  

They passed a number of portraits that Eduardo politely smiled at automatically. Mark graced them with nasty glares for the most part. A few of the more active subjects hissed back at him.

“Please don’t,” Eduardo asked of a particularly immense pastoral scene, whose shepherdess and sheep were engaged in rather rude gestures. “That is my husband, you know.”

The maiden and her flock toned down their ire apologetically.  “He shouldn’t be, though. Begging your pardon, senhor,” the shepherdess said, fleeing to the back of her oil landscape so she wouldn’t have to hear his retort.

Mark snorted. “Don’t bother,” he said. “Portraits are always stuck in their opinions, and most of them hate dark wizards more than anything.”

Eduardo gave him a weak smile. “I guess.”

They switched staircases again, having to walk all the way up this one as it didn’t move at all.

“Mark,” Eduardo started, leaning on the banister to catch his breath briefly before continuing upwards.

Mark hummed to let him know he was paying attention.

“I know you’re…mixed up in some kind of Dark business,” he said, pausing again to search for the safest words. “That’s your business, and I respect that. My father was in - is in similar company. But I can’t-”. He put his hands to his bag straps and gripped them tightly. “I can’t be part of it. I want to help Chris now, but I don’t want to get involved with – with You-Know-Who. Or anyone else like him.”

Eduardo held his breath, and his feet shied him slightly away from Mark, out of his reach, down a couple of steps. Eduardo was quite sure he could outrun Mark, and if he was lucky he could dodge his hexes for long enough to reach the first landing and dart into the labyrinthine passages. Hogwarts had many ways of keeping its students safe.

Mark remained silent for the rest of the climb, fists screwed up and tucked against his sides the whole way. At last he spoke as they reached the next landing.  “Good,” he said. He didn’t sound happy, but he sounded final. Like he had just vocally stamped his approval on the statement.

“Good?” Eduardo repeated, relief-stricken.

“It’s not safe,’ Mark said, leading them down a series of dark corridors. Torches burst into light as they walked deeper, and extinguished as they passed them by some distance. “I’ve been an idiot this whole time. I should have had you withdraw from Hogwarts as soon as we were married, should have moved you to Zuckerberg House.” He laughed, harsh and dry.

“What are you talking about?” Eduardo said, the back of his neck prickling. “I’m not leaving Hogwarts, Mark.”

Mark shrugged his assent, calm again. “No, I did promise you we would stay until we were done,” he said.

_[20th meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; DM; EA; CL; ES_

“Down here,” Mark said as they passed a truly terrible portrait. “Stay with me, or the room might not appear to you.” He took Eduardo’s arm and they paced back and forth until they wheeled around to find a low stone door where Eduardo was certain there had not been one before. Mark twisted the iron ring in its centre and pushed the door open with an awful grating of stone.

The chamber was entirely stone, and entirely bare apart from a heavy oak strategy table and an assortment of mismatching chairs, stools and sofas. There were two youths draped or leaning across the furniture and one pacing back and forth. Eduardo blinked, recognising none of them until he realised that the girl draped over the sofa had Christy’s long sleek black hair, the tall girl with her face pressed against the back of a mahogany dining chair had Erica’s brown ponytail, and the boy pacing the flagstones had Dustin’s auburn crop.

Eduardo stopped short. “All of you,” he said faintly. In truth, whilst he had easily accepted that Chris and Dustin had been mixed up in Dark business, he had not actually believed it of every one of his only friends.

“That’s right, all of us,” Christy said, gesturing expansively as she sat up. Then she turned to Mark. “Why did you bring him here, idiot?”

Mark huffed and gestured them towards the table. “He knows where they took Chris.”

Christy settled down again with a frown. “Well, I suppose we can always Obliviate him afterwards.”

They took seats at the table, and Mark pulled out some of his scraps of parchment, and spread them on the table.

He traced his wand tip over the parchment, leaving glowing lines wherever he touched it. “Eduardo?”

Eduardo swallowed and nodded. “My – my father’s house has tunnels and passageways beneath it. They go to Diagon and Knockturn as well as a few other places he does business. Some of the tunnels also join the tunnels of other estates, and some are unfinished, and instead used for storage.”

“Yes, and?” Christy said impatiently, “Whose estate doesn’t have a few secret passages?”

Dustin raised a glamour-muddled eyebrow at her, and she quieted down, folding her arms across her chest.

“My father,” he said, “sometimes – there were people in the tunnels. When I was a child, especially. Injured people. I was forbidden to enter them, most of the time, especially after I turned eleven and nothing.” He gestured at Mark’s wand. “I know now – well, I suspect he was keeping hostages there. Doing favours for other Dark wizards.  If you saw him in the group that took Dustin, then I have little doubt as to where he will be held.”

“We have a destination, then,” Dustin said in an exhausted voice. “That’s better than we had before. Thanks, Wardo. Let’s get you glamoured too.”

“It’s nothing.” Eduardo said.

They walked swiftly across the grounds, and Eduardo guessed they were headed to the outer bounds of the grounds. He’d never walked this far into the grounds before. To be honest, he’d never even dipped a toe into the lake in summer. A giant squid was more than he wanted to tangle with when he couldn’t even repel a doxie.

They crossed a stile quite close to the Forbidden Forest and gathered in a loose circle.

“I can lead you,” Eduardo said. He dug in his bag for a moment, and pulled out his choicest piece, unwrapping it from its newsprint padding.

“Is that what it looks like?” Erica said, eyebrows practically at her hairline.  

“That’s just disgusting,” Dustin said, backing away so fast he almost walked into Erica. “That’s somebody’s hand!”

“That’s extremely useful.” Mark said, lifting an eyebrow in approval at Eduardo. “I wonder where you got it.”

Eduardo shrugged. He fished his wand out and concentrated hard, the tip pressed directly to the wick. It sparked eventually, and the candle lit up, surrounding them in a warm glow. “There,” he said, satisfied.

“Uh, it didn’t light,” Dustin said. “Do you want me to do it, Wardo?”

Christy flicked him in the ear. “It’s a Hand of Glory, idiot. Only the lighter can see the light.”

“Let’s go then,” Eduardo said, looking at them all in the candlelight. “Think of my – my father’s greeting hall. Most of us have been there.”

Mark nodded. He wrapped his arm around Eduardo’s waist securely.

“Christy take Erica side-along, Dustin, you’re with Chris on the way back.” They all nodded their agreement.

“Be quiet and don’t light your wands when we get there,” Eduardo warned them lastly. “The house elves may still listen to me, but we don’t want to attract any other notice. Follow me, and I’ll lead you into the tunnels.”

Mark tightened his arm then, and they apparated. It felt awful, and Eduardo was sure that his head would pop off at any moment. It was said that muggles and animals could be apparated just as easily as wizards, but Eduardo was certain that it couldn’t be true. He had the smallest scrap of magic, and it still hurt like the nastiest crushing charm he’d ever endured as a misbehaving child.

Eduardo cast his eyes around the entrance hall. It was dark except for a single torch that had lit upon their entrance. Erica pointed her wand at it and _nox_ ’ed it, just in case. They stood in silence for a few moments, and only when they were satisfied that the house was quiet and sleeping did they speak.

Mark unwrapped his arm and stood at his full height to address them. “Eduardo, you’re on reconnaissance with the hand. Stay out of sight, and search for Chris. When you find him, fetch us. Don’t do anything else.”

Eduardo nodded his agreement. There wasn’t much else he could do.

“The rest of us are on the offensive. Hex anything that looks like a threat. There are no rules tonight.” He met their eyes one by one. “We get Chris back at all costs.”

No one argued, and they all turned to Eduardo expectantly.

“Alright,” he said, “This way.”

The passage entrance looked like nothing more than a linen closet, one of many identical doors in the same hallway. It was locked, but Mark squinted and charmed it open without trouble. Checking the dark drop with the hand’s light, Eduardo nodded to them to start to ascend. They began to slowly climb down, and Eduardo winced as the tunnel’s torches began to flicker to life.

Eduardo turned to check the hallway of his old home one last time before he followed the others, only to find a house elf directly opposite him. He almost leapt backwards into the tunnel headfirst.

“Young master,” the house elf said quietly.

“Lissy,” Eduardo answered, checking the hallway ends again with no small amount of terror. “I’m not your master anymore, Lissy, I’m sorry.”

Lissy hummed thoughtfully, her large yellow eyes fixed on him. “Young master was always a good master. The house elves thank you.”

“Lissy,” Eduardo said again, with feeling. “I miss you all.  I would ask you to come with me to my new home if I wasn’t certain you would refuse.”

She smiled and nodded at him. “None will go to Zuckerberg House,” she agreed. “You did not marry an elf friend, Young Master.”

“I’m sorry,” Eduardo apologised again, grip tightening on the Hand of Glory he was certain that Lissy would recognise.

“You are elf friend,” Lissy said, decisively. “We will come if you call us, but we will not come to Zuckerberg House.”

Eduardo nodded slowly, trying to work out the technicalities of Lissy’s offer. “What of – here?” Eduardo said. “Will you allow me to pass through Saverin House tonight, even though I am banished and nameless?”

Lissy bobbed a little in place, smiling a little. “If you are nameless, Young Master, then we cannot report yous, can we?”

Eduardo let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lissy, we’ll be gone soon.” He bowed to her, a last moment thought of gratitude. Instead of squeaking or falling to her face on the hall carpet as she would have when he had lived in the house, she merely hummed imperiously, and accepted the bow with a secretive smile.

Eduardo checked the passage again and stepped into the tunnel opening, climbing carefully with his one free hand. He stopped partway down the stairs and peered back through the door.

“Oh, and – _nox_?” Eduardo said, looking at Lissy pleadingly.

To his relief, she nodded at him, and all the lights in the tunnel flickered out, as if a sudden gust had blown across them all.

“Thank you, Lissy,” Eduardo whispered, and he felt the gentle pat of a tiny hand as he slipped fully into the passageway.

Eduardo lifted the Hand of Glory high and he set off down the passageway as quietly as he could manage with his heavy boots. He caught the others easily, spotting them slinking against the stone walls in the light of the Hand. He touched each of them at the elbow as he passed by, gentle so as not to surprise anyone into striking.

Somehow they all understood his meaning, and sent him on his way in silence. Mark was at the head of their advance of course, and Eduardo paused beside him the longest, his fingers curling into the wrinkled robes at his elbow until Mark turned to face him despite the pitch black he was staring into. Eduardo smiled despite himself, seeing Mark’s typically intensely focused face now searching for meaning in the pitch black. It didn’t matter that he was glamoured – no one else in the world could have such an obstinate expression.

“I’ll see where they are, and fetch you,” he whispered into his ear, regretting the closeness when he had to pull back and walk on without Mark.

Nonetheless, he went, the candle lighting the way. Around the next corner he found trouble.

A pack of blacked robed wizards huddled around _lumos_ lit wand tips, conversing in disgruntled tones. “Blasted house elves,” Eduardo heard one mutter. “They’re always putting out torches, by Merlin, if my wife would forgive me for clothing half of them, our house would be the better for it.”

“Have Saverin get the little miscreants down here, they’ll wish for the iron,” another complained.

“Who cares,” a short witch with a high voice said. “Light the damn things yourselves.”

A couple of them set to it, and Eduardo fled back under the cover of their footfalls.

“Around the corner,” he hissed. “Quickly, they’re lighting the torches again.”

They moved as one, flooding around the corner in near silence, and Eduardo was taken aback as they swept around him, their cloaks barely brushing him as they flew by. Certainly, they were practiced at matters like this. Far more practiced than Eduardo had ever imagined.

He caught up to himself then, and turned about, shaking his head as he followed the group around the corner. He seized the nearest lit torches from the wall and threw them down, stamping them out swiftly.

Already the room was darker again, and as Eduardo snatched for two more torches and dashed them down, he saw Dustin and Erica silently hurl themselves against the two wizards who were still lighting further torches.

The room plunged back into darkness once more, Eduardo’s Hand the only waxy glow.

“ _Lumos_ ,” several voices hissed, and four pinpricks of light erupted in the dark and searched the passageway in slicing motions. Eduardo pressed himself against the stone, and kept watch. He saw Erica fell her opponent with the most violent stupefy hex he’d ever seen, and could only shake his head in amazement as the others followed her example.

Some of their strikes missed, impaired as they were by the darkness, and Eduardo found that he had to switch from place to place against the passageway walls, depending on which sides were blindly taking fire at any given moment.

A stray hex grazed past Eduardo’s shoulder as he dodged across the corridor on one sweep, and he felt the tingle of magic tremble across the surface of his entire skin. Magic interacting with magic, Eduardo realised, shivering at the strangeness of the tingle. The hex had been one of Dustin’s, Eduardo could tell – though he wasn’t sure how. His tingling skin though, felt like nothing other than Mark. The glamour he’d cast on him, Eduardo supposed.

A hand clamped around his wrist suddenly, and a closely held _lumos_ shone directly into his eyes.

The tingling increased suddenly, and Eduardo knew somehow, without a doubt, that the glamour was about to fall. It dropped, and the tingling disappeared.

Lord Saverin stumbled forward, eyes widening through his mask.

“Eduardo,” he said once, quietly to himself. “Eduardo!” he said again, and this time his hand flew out. He seized Eduardo by the throat, and dragged him up onto his toes. “My filthy little squib of a son,” he spat. “So you are a traitor and a thief now, too?” he said, taking in the Hand of Glory that Eduardo still clutched.  “A compatriot to spies, as well as eager bedmate to muggle-fuckers?”

He shook Eduardo by the throat, hand tightening like a noose. “I suppose it is no wonder your husband couldn’t manage to imbue you, no matter how hard he tried. No doubt his seed is practically muggle.”

Eduardo would have spit at him for that had he been able to breathe or swallow, or to even feel his toes any longer. He felt his eyelids slipping shut again and again, though he couldn’t believe he was capable of sleep when he was in so much pain.

A flash of light had him blinking again, and he fell to the hard ground, knees jarring against the stones.

He looked up and saw his father howling, hands clapped to his face as blood bubbled through his fragmented mask. The flesh beneath was black and red, scorched as if he’d been pressed to the stove top. His eyes were gone, long gone. He gaped, and would have stayed there, frozen and staring if another set of hands hadn’t plucked him from the floor and set him on his feet again.

“Can you speak?” Christy said urgently.

Eduardo spat to the side, wincing at the taste of iron. “Yes,” he said experimentally. His voice was tight and tinny to his ears, but still there. “Yes.”

“Watch my back,” she said, and she leapt into the fray again.

Eduardo swallowed again, mindful of how rough it felt. He edged along the passage wall again, one eye on Christy and they others as they darted forward and cast at their opponents and leapt back behind corners for cover. His father was where Christy had felled him, and seemed unwilling to move, his hands still pawing at his face, searching for sight.  He made sure to creep in the opposite direction, shining the hand into each dark passage in turn. Finally, he found another pocket of wizards, all muttering amongst themselves. He recognised the stature and hair of at least two of them as long time associates of his father: Peter Thiel and Sheryl Sandberg. There was a crumpled, cloaked form in the corner, and as Eduardo crept closer he saw that whilst the face was not familiar at all, the hair was unmistakably that of his friend Chris.

He doubled back quietly, having to duck around some of Dustin’s nearly invisible traps. Mark was stupefying a wizard Eduardo did not recognise with almost silent hexes alternated with sharp kicks to the ribs.

Eduardo looked away. “Mark,” he said, waiting for his husband to finish his business.

“Wardo?” Mark was beside him almost immediately.

“I found him,” Eduardo said. “But he’s guarded by at least five – and two of them I know are going to be hard to take down.”

“What happened to your throat?” Mark said, his voice strange.

Eduardo shook his head. He gestured back along the corridor, where he could see his father’s crumbled form rocking back and forward on the floor in the light of the hand. “My father,” he said, shortly. “Christy helped me.”

He watched Mark swallow, saw his jaw setting harshly. “Let’s go,” Mark said. He laid a hand on Eduardo’s sleeve and waited for him to lead on. They collected Erica and Christy on the way, leaving Dustin to lay traps in the dark for the last few stumbling wizards. They crept into the passage one by one, sliding along the walls in the pitch black, hands fisted in each other’s cloaks.

They stood still for a time, adjusting to the darkness. Then Mark pushed Eduardo gently back against the wall and stepped ahead of him. He raised his arm slowly and Eduardo could see him mouthing his silent cast. He struck the closest Death Eater with a crippling hex that appeared to knock him out cold, and followed up with a blinding flash that threw off the remaining four.

Eduardo slipped around the edge of the tunnel and took the chance to grab Chris by the upper arm. Chris flinched, but he seemed to know it was a better idea to come quietly, because he followed Eduardo’s tugging without further complaint.

Christy was throttling someone, on her knees, but clearly well in control of the situation. Eduardo thought it might be Sheryl Sandberg – but Christy had her cloak over her victim’s face, so it was difficult to tell.  Mark was casting ruthlessly at people’s backs, taking advantage of the fact that he had closed his eyes during the flash. Dustin and Erica were still against the tunnel walls, eyes darting as they provided backup. Eduardo was almost ready to push Chris into their hands, when he saw another dark cloaked figure enter the alcove.  The man crossed into the Hand’s pool of cool light, and the first thing Eduardo thought was that the man was slithering; stooped and crawling like he had to drag the rest of his body behind him. He looked up at Eduardo then, and somehow despite the darkness that Eduardo knew he was enshrouded in, despite how Eduardo knew that only he could see with the light of the Hand of Glory – his father stared directly at him like he was lit up and on display.

Lord Saverin lunged, hissing through the shattered porcelain mask, and Eduardo leapt aside, jerking Chris with him.

“Get him out of here!” Eduardo shouted, pushing Chris into Dustin and Erica’s hands. They hauled him up by the back of his robes and dragged him past Eduardo’s father without question.

Then Eduardo was stumbling, and his father crowed again, his voice wild and high pitched, and so clearly mad.

He grabbed at Eduardo, catching the tail of his cloak, and he chuckled and drew his wand hand back rapidly, throwing the curse even as Eduardo tumbled, the Hand of Glory falling from his grip. He could see Mark coming as the Hand’s light flickered and snuffed out.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” Lord Saverin said, hurling the slicing charm low, far too low to miss Eduardo as he fell.

Mark inhaled and exhaled his next curse, the words slipping out in the natural way that accidental magic always did. “ _Evanesco_ ,” Mark said, the casting so hard that the magical force vibrated his bones from wrist to elbow.

Eduardo vanished.

A heavy boot clattered on the stone floor.

Mark took the remainder of the slicing charm. It threw him back, and he rolled head over heels into the hallway.  Christy took him by the shoulders and dragged him backwards. The passage was suddenly flooded with light and smoke. Dustin’s traps, Mark realised. Thiel and Sandberg shielded their eyes, and Mark watched Lord Saverin, still on his knees, indifferent to the light, laughing and patting at the boot that had fallen into his lap. It was Eduardo’s boot. Mark could make out the fat distinctive knot in it.

“We’re apparating, we’re going now,” Mark heard, barely registering that Christy had stopped dragging him. “Hold on to me, we’re going to the checkpoint, the meadow, got it?”

Mark nodded and clutched her arm as they began to spin in place.

They were ejected onto hard hillocks of earth. The meadow had been plowed since they’d last stopped at it. It was no longer tall grass and weeds. Mark struggled to his feet and found himself face to face with Erica.

“What did you do to him?” Erica said, her mouth trembling.  She dragged her arm out of Christy’s other hand and scrambled for her own wand.

Mark stood still as she trained the wand on him. His shoulders were slumped. He barely noticed that Christy had grabbed him by the arm again, and was practically holding him up now.

“You never use a vanishing charm on people,” Erica said. “Never, never!” She didn’t seem capable of any other word now, and she had sealed her own hand over her mouth. It wasn’t choking back the horrified tears that were flooding down her face.

“Where did Eduardo go?” Christy asked Chris in hushed tones.

Chris looked up from the dirt to Mark and then back down quickly, eyes mostly closed and crinkled in pain. His glamour had fallen now, and as Mark looked around, he saw they’d all regained their ordinary features. “I imagine,” Chris said slowly, “to wherever it is that vanished things go.”

Erica muffled a mournful sob.

“Merlin,” Dustin swore. He glanced at them all in turn, and then hauled his robe off and set to tearing it apart.  

“Come here,” he said. Mark had a shallow gash that crossed his shoulder and collarbone to the centre of his chest.

“I’m fine,” Mark said dully, resisting the touch, “Saverin was too far gone to put any real force into it.”

“You’re worse off than Chris now,” Dustin said practically. “And he’s the one who was captured.”

“Let him bandage you,” Christy said. “You can’t find Eduardo if you’re locked in the Hospital Wing.”

Mark relented and let Dustin press the cloth against him until the bleeding was stemmed.

“We have to get back to Hogwarts,” he said then. “Chris looks like he needs something for the pain.”

Dustin nodded, and took Chris’s arm. Christy took Erica, and Mark nodded at both pairs as they popped out of sight. He stood alone for a moment, shaking, and then popped out of the barren field, leaving it like they had never been there.

Everything was damp and soft. It felt like napping inside of a cloud. No matter how many times he blinked he found that his surroundings were pitch black, as black as the grave, he imagined. Or where ever it was that vanished things went, Eduardo supposed. Some kind of metaphorical box sealed between one moment and the next. Mark had - Mark had. Eduardo couldn't think about it without his chest closing in on him, burrowing into his stomach. Mark had vanished him out of existence, like a torn rag, or spoilt milk. An inconvenient mess. He had - Eduardo slapped a mental cap over the thoughts. 

He tried to sit up, careful and mindful of the possibility of - perhaps a lid to the box? He found no such resistance, to his relief, and worked on standing next, planting his hand beside him in the soft moss that grew there.  Eduardo looked at it. Moss. He froze in his half crouch and peered around instead, staring intently into the darkness, blinking away the tears in his straining eyes.

Eventually the darkness softened slightly. It was not death, after all, but some kind of clearing. A moor, judging by the damp and the moss. He must have fallen into a fallow, and been lucky enough to find himself in firm moss, and not a peat bog. A thousand years from now he could have been pulled clear, tar black and mummified. Eduardo shuddered at the thought, and stood with care. He felt around the moss with what he suddenly realised were bootless feet. He nudged something cold and stiff, chills running down his back before he realised what it must be.

Eduardo bent to pick up the Hand of Glory, groping hands finding the waxy fingers. The candle had gone out. Eduardo lifted the artefact with care, silently counting fingers as he got a good grasp.  He let out a sigh of relief to find that it certainly felt whole, candle, wrist, thumb and fingers alike.

Not such a relief was the way that the Hand twitched as he held it by the fingers. Eduardo almost dropped it, but it twitched again immediately and the fingers curled around his own. Eduardo could hear the creak of leathery skin, and the crackle of ancient wax. The thumb shifted too, hard and vice-tight, and Eduardo realised that the Hand of Glory now held him.

The scream in his throat caught, only out of habit, and he held his arm at length, knees locked, blood cold, and stomach revolting. He stood like that for a few minutes, hoping that it would loosen its grip and fall aside. It did not. Eduardo thought a moment and fumbled for his wand with his free hand. Perhaps he could light it at least, and if that did not spook it into spasm, at least he could light their way to the closest village.

His wand wasn’t there, lost to wherever his boots had gone, he supposed. He climbed up the edge of his lonely little ditch instead, one hand digging at the sod, the other uselessly held by the Hand of Glory. The edge was thick enough for a person to walk along if they were careful, but the ground dropped away again all over the place into potholes and ditches similar to his own.  

He dragged himself out and sat on the high earth. The fallows around him glinted in some places, and Eduardo looked up, realising that the clouds above had blown onwards. There were stars twinkling through the remaining grey veil. He felt lighter suddenly, knowing that wherever he was, it was still a place on his own earth. The stars even looked somewhat familiar.  He checked the Hand, still tight and unmoving, and then looked back into the ditches. The shine was bog water in some, he could see. Likely others were similarly wet, but thicker with sludge and more deceptive. Some glints, however, were not like that of water or mud. There was metal there, or glass, perhaps.

Eduardo crawled along the earth towards the closest glint, and peered in cautiously, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It was…belongings. Cloth, broken mirrors, half a chair, a muggle shoe much like some of Mark’s. He blinked and crawled to the next, only to reel back in disgust. Rotten food, countless apple cores, the dead glazed eyes of an immensely large rat, the unmistakable deathly stench of spoiled flesh.

Eduardo crawled on quickly past this and several similarly horrifying potholes. The next glint was a split bag, stuffed with galleons. It sat atop a tall heap of splintered furniture that almost filled the hole to the level Eduardo crouched at. One of the splinters the money bag nestled atop shone brighter than the others and Eduardo had to blink again to be sure it was what he thought it was. A lost wand. Eduardo fished it out, not touching the galleons. They seemed…too good to be true, and he didn’t need them, not really.

The wand didn’t explode or hum, or appear to curse him upon first touch. It was much like every other wand Eduardo had ever touched. No wand had ever recognised him the way he’d seen them recognise their other wizards and witches in numerous wand stores. It felt better to have the smooth familiar grip in hand though. He sat back on his heels and gave it an experimental flick.

The Hand of Glory twitched again, and its candle sprung to life.

Eduardo gaped at it. The Hand didn’t drop off, but the flame grew and grew.  Soon Eduardo found that he could see the contents of ditches several metres away. They stretched on out of the candle’s reach, and their hazy outlines went on as far as Eduardo could discern, seemingly to the dark horizon on every side. He was in some kind of gigantic rubbish depository.

Eduardo stood up slowly, surveying the paths that ran hither and thither around him.

“Which way?” he whispered aloud, voice grating as it left his still tender throat.

The Hand squeezed and as Eduardo stared at it in horror, one long waxy finger released its grip and rolled in its creaking joint, old bones grinding and snapping within it. It stilled then, pointed directly ahead of him.  He sighted down the finger.  There was a glimmer in the far distance, just like that of those holes around him. Eduardo chewed his lip and shrugged. He jammed the lost wand into his pocket and lifted the Hand before him.

“Lead on,” he said to the Hand, voice almost without quaver. “I’m sure you know better than me.”

The Hand simply pointed as before, and Eduardo began to pick his way along the soft earthy paths.

“I’ll take him,” Mark said. “You all scatter, go back to your dorms separately. You were never gone.” He took Dustin’s place under Chris’s arm, and pushed Dustin away.

Christy nodded and set off at a lope.

Dustin lingered, wringing his hands. “At least let us help you get him up to the castle,” he said.

Mark shook his head. “Someone will see you. You can’t be seen near me, especially since Eduardo-”He paused, and rearranged his grip on Chris’s waist. “They’ll question me first.”

Erica sniffed wetly, stepping forward and grabbing Dustin’s wrist. “We should go,” she said. “We’ll say we’ve had stomach ache and couldn’t make it to classes, okay?”

Mark nodded.

They set off, hesitant at first, but then they cleared the first few copses and Mark saw them dart around the fringe of the Quidditch pitch.

“Alright?” Mark said.

Chris coughed what sounded like the beginning of an answer, but buckled a little before he could finish it. His face was a waxy yellow in the moonlight, sweat standing out on his brow.

“Levi corpus,” Mark said, flicking his wand.

Chris struggled momentarily, but gave up after the bobbing jolted him hard enough to go even paler. He lay still and let Mark levitate him up to the castle doors. They’d barely passed through the entrance hall when the alarm went up.  

Mark looked left and right. The portraits were shouting, and the cacophony only grew as more oil painted people crowded into each other’s frames to point and yell.

Naturally Peeves made an appearance at the other end of the passage. He bobbed in the air just out of reach, shrieking and caterwauling.

“MURDER, ODIOUS MURDER,” he hollered in between his screams. “CONSPIRACY, INTRIGUE, SLAUGHTER. QUICKLY, QUICKLY, ARREST THIS BRIGAND.”

Mark ducked a ghostly slap and pressed on, right through Peeves’ cold, slightly slimy manifestation.

Peeves kept up his screaming, and Mark tackled the first staircase, putting some strength into his elbow to ensure Chris didn’t bump any steps.  There was a clatter before they’d climbed halfway and a hoard of huffing wizards appeared both behind and ahead of them on the curving staircase, slippers and boots slapping loudly.  Sleep ruffled hair and bathrobes were straightened even as their owners kept their wands firmly trained on Mark.

“Mr Zuckerberg,” Professor Snape said smoothly from the head of the group who had blocked them in from below. “What exactly is it that you are doing with the prone body of Mr Hughes?”

“Taking him to the hospital wing, sir,” Mark said. “And with respect, I don’t think this delay is helping.”

Snape nodded upward at Madam Pomfrey, who descended carefully, and took over Mark’s levitation spell before she peered at Chris’s face.

“Cruciatus,” she said, furiously. “Make way, quickly.” The wizards parted, and Pomfrey pushed Chris gently upwards, running after his bobbing form as it slipped towards the Hospital Wing rapidly.

“Well,” Snape said. He fixed Mark with a cold stare. “I think this may merit a visit to the Headmaster.”

“Do you think we ought to bind him?” Sprout hissed loudly.

Snape turned his head a little. “Will you come willingly, Zuckerberg?” Mark half-turned under the scrutiny. Snape’s gaze was too sharp, and he could almost feel his particularly recognisable magic prickling over his brain.

“Of course.” Mark said. He offered his wand up on flat open hands, and avoided Snape’s eyes as it was plucked up and pocketed.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Sprout will keep a binding charm handy, but I’m sure we won’t come to any more grief on the way to the Headmaster, will we?”

“No, sir.” Mark said, throat tight.

Dumbledore was waiting when they arrived and no binding charms were necessary. Mark told him nothing but the barest minimum. He and Chris had gone on an adventure to Diagon Alley, Chris had gotten into a fight with the wrong sort of wizard, it was all Mark’s fault. No one else was involved. He had studiously kept his eyes on the twisting hands in his lap for the duration, refusing all offers of tea or refreshment.

“This all sounds very straightforward,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers under his bearded chin. “All a very unfortunate business.” He looked to Snape and Sprout, who remained stationed at each of Mark’s shoulders.

“I suppose that only one question remains,” Snape cut in. “Where exactly is your husband, and no doubt compatriot Mr Saverin?”

Mark stiffened. “He is – Mr Zuckerberg now, also,” he said, numbly.

“If you would answer the question?” Sprout barked, more authoritative than Mark had ever heard her.

“I don’t know,” Mark said, truthfully.

“Come now,” Snape said. “We have checked all the dorms, and every student is in place barring yourself, Mr Hughes, and Mr Saverin.”

“Zuckerberg,” Mark said, gritting his teeth. “And – I don’t know where he is.” Mark twisted around and met Snape’s eyes briefly.

“I don’t know,” he said again, holding the gaze just a moment too long for comfort.

Snape blinked. He nodded at Sprout and Dumbledore. “He speaks the truth. He does not know his location.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Very well. I suppose we must send you back to your bed. I trust that Snape will arrange your punishment for leaving the grounds.” He waved at the door. “Sprout, if you would stay on?”

Snape took Mark by the shoulder, practically lifting him out of the seat and taking him to the door and right down the dark spiral staircase.

He let go once they stepped into the torch-lit corridor.

“Sir,” Mark ventured, “if you could?”

Mark unwrapped the cloth Dustin had pressed to his collarbone and chest, exposing the spell gash he had taken.  “Could you knit it? I doubt I’d be welcome in the Hospital Wing at this point.”

Snape surveyed the wound momentarily, then nodded and waved his wand over it. “You’ll likely have a scar,” he warned him.

Mark tried to nod, but found the knitting flesh wouldn’t allow it yet. “Yes,” he said instead, through gritted teeth.

They stood in the near-dark for a few moments, the only sound, the wet creep of Mark’s skin rapidly spreading out and closing over his gash, and the odd gasp of pain that Mark couldn’t keep in.

“You’ve done something,” Snape said, once Mark had pulled his robes gingerly back over his chest. “But both you and I know that you are the one who must live with it. See me if you feel the urge to confess any crimes.”

He turned on his heel and strode away, seeming to melt into the darkness of the corridor as he got further away.

Mark considered going back to his chambers. Perhaps Eduardo would be in them, simply banished home, and hopping mad about it. The chambers would certainly be empty though, and the thought of confronting them when they were cold and dark, with no possibility of company was too much. Mark returned to his Slytherin dorm bed, glad that the password hadn’t changed and that he didn’t have to face another accursed portrait to enter.

There were eyes on Mark nearly constantly over the next few days, and they were neither kind nor trusting.

Chris was not present at breakfast, and after a frosty reception to the first classes of the day, Mark elected to skip the lunch and dinner hours. Dustin and Erica were at Transfigurations, but Dustin would look nowhere but his textbook, and Erica’s glances were almost poisonous in their repressed rancor. Mark didn’t try to talk to them. McGonagall seemed to have her eye fixed on him for the duration, and no doubt anything he did would be reported and dissected.

It was in Defence where it really hit him with the force of a Hippogriff.

Mark padded in, quiet in his muggle shoes today. Christy nodded to him briefly, which was a concession he hadn’t know he’d needed. There was something to be said for House loyalty after all, Mark thought wryly. So this was how dark wizards kept on in the face of adversity. One nod a day.

The Hufflepuffs though, seemed to turn en masse to stare him down. They said nothing to him, typical of non-confrontational Hufflepuffs, but instead closed ranks, and whispered amongst themselves in between keeping watch. On him.

Mark’s throat tightened and he took his old seat next to Christy. The class seemed to last days, and whenever he dared to look up, he found himself locking eyes with some Hufflepuff or another. All of them looked…frightened, Mark supposed. They didn’t look particularly distraught which, frankly, offended Mark. So much for a house renowned for unrelenting kindness; Eduardo had been just as alone amongst his housemates as Mark felt among his Slytherins. Mark at least had Christy, even now, after having committed such an atrocity-

Mark squeezed his eyelids shut momentarily, coaxing his face back into composure.

Christy nudged him with her sharp elbow, questioning. Mark shook his head lightly and kept his head down for the rest of the class.

“Back to the dorm?” she said as the professor let them out. Her voice was cheery, but her eyes were as dark as Mark had ever seen them.

Mark nodded.

“I’ll come with,” she said, taking his elbow. “I don’t much fancy sitting alone with a pack of Gryffindors all afternoon.”

Mark extricated his arm. “You shouldn’t,” he said. “Unless you fancy being tailed around the castle and reported on.”

“And how do you know I’m not your tail?” Christy said, mockingly. She let his arm be, and instead walked closely all the way back to the dungeons. They passed Mark’s chambers in the cool corridor, and to Christy’s credit, she didn’t falter, delivering them instead to the Slytherin Common Room, thankfully empty at this time of day.

_[21st meeting of OA]_

_Members present: MZ; CL_

Christy shed her outer robes and kicked off her boots, throwing herself down unceremoniously onto a sofa. Mark headed for his dorm.

“Where are you going?” Christy said, with a frown. Her cheery tone had entirely evaporated.

Mark shrugged and leaned against the doorway to the boys’ dorms instead, unwilling to obediently come and sit down with her like a cajoled child.

Christy crooked her fingers at him.

Mark dropped his shoulders and came back to sit down opposite her in a cool leather armchair.

“Better.” Christy said, swinging her legs around and sitting up properly. She leaned forward. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Mark jerked back, blinking. He looked at the tapestry on the wall beside them, swallowing hard. His hands slid into his robe pockets, which were jammed with crumpled parchment from the hours Mark had sat wide awake in the green velvet enclosure of his dormitory bed.

“I don’t know,” he admitted numbly. The words scraped his throat raw, and worse than that, Christy looked sceptical.

“You always have a plan,” she insisted. “Whatever you’ve thought of, no matter how crazy, I’m in.”

Mark shook his head. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, dragging out the papers, and tossing them onto the rug at their feet. “There is nothing,” he said, chest tight. “All the literature, everything…he’s gone, Christy.”

Christy bent to retrieve the scraps of parchment, and began to sort through them, unfolding them neatly and reading the scrawled contents. Mark winced as each piece revealed the red strikes he’d scored through every lead or idea that had come to nothing.

“Gone?” Christy asked quietly, “or dead, Mark?”

Mark closed his eyes, and wrapped his hand around the wand in his left pocket.

“Dead,” he said. “Everything says he is dead. I disintegrated him and returned him to the earth.”

Something soft touched Mark’s free hand, and for a moment, his heart leapt, thinking of the token he had pressed on Eduardo, months ago. It was not so, of course, he found as he opened his eyes and accepted Christy’s handkerchief blankly, holding it in his lap where she had placed it.

“You’re crying,” Christy said, voice strangely tight as she indicated at the handkerchief. Her head was bowed though, and she would not look at him anymore either.

 

The Aurors came on the evening of Mark’s third day without Eduardo. They took him from the Slytherin Common Room, and Snape supervised the arrest to ensure no house-proud student tried to interfere. Beggaring all belief, Christy asked the arresting aurors if she might come to visit, ignoring their sneers and jibes. Mark went with them willingly for his part, surrendering his wand, and nodding his respectful goodbyes to Professor Snape and Christy. They left through the Common Room fireplace.

The Ministry’s holding cells were surprisingly homely, and not much unlike the Slytherin dorms.

“You will be interviewed in the morning,” the auror that had been on Mark’s right side said. He had Mark’s wand. “Your parents will be informed this evening, but as you are nearly of age, and besides that emancipated by marriage, don’t expect to be tried as anything but a grown wizard.”

Mark nodded. He accepted a blanket from the auror who had taken his right side. “Thank you,” he said. He wasted no time in rolling himself in the cloth on the shelf-like cot bed. It was hard and gritty, there was no pillow, and he could hear distant howling and faint weeping from his fellow detainees.

It was no less than he deserved, Mark thought, and he slept better with the thought planted in his mind.

Eduardo had been trudging for days – he knew this was a fact, not exaggeration from complaining feet. The sun had risen and set and risen twice since he had found himself in this strange junkyard. Even during the apparent daylight hours, a fog seemed to blanket the potholed lands, keeping them from any direct touch of the sun. It was like walking through a cloud, or setting out at twilight, only for it to never end. When the light became strange and met Eduardo’s eyes at crossways he would miss potholes and trip more often than in the darkest hours of the night. He took to sleeping at these times, though it felt more like resting his eyes.

Not every pot hole was deep, and some were dry and free of moss or bog entirely. He slept in these when he could find them at the right times, wrapping himself in only his cloak and shivering until he could finally continue his walking.

There were blankets and beds and pillows and cloaks in many potholes. Some were bloodstained, some torn apart as if a wild animal or a torrent of slicing charms had fallen upon them. This and the ever present threat of the black sucking peat bog kept him from the siren song of their comfort.

The Hand at least stayed constant, and could be relied on to answer his questions, as long as they were direction-based. It was the closest thing Eduardo had to a friend in this place, and he would not have hesitated to proclaim such a fact to the world, he was so grateful for the company.

“Which way to get home,” he murmured to the hand as he lay curled in the bottom of his latest resting ditch. The hand pointed, in much the same direction Eduardo had been walking all day.

“Which way is Mark?” Eduardo asked, even quieter, the words leaving him nauseous as they emerged. The Hand squeezed a little tighter momentarily, and the disjointed finger turned and lifted upwards, pointing in a wholly different direction.

Eduardo supposed the upward incline implied that the distance was much further. Perhaps the gradient took into account the curve of the earth? It was not unlikely. Perhaps it meant he was in a high place. The Owlery, or the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts? Eduardo could only imagine.

Nonetheless, it was better to follow the Hand to the closest point. The way to get home, wherever the Hand had decided that would be. “Thank you,” Eduardo said, sincerely. He curled the arm the Hand was clinging to as close to his chest as he could get it without stifling the tiny flame. He drifted off for a few moments, dreaming lightly of walking and moss, and of seeing distant stick figures through curtains of fog.

He woke abruptly in muggy darkness, to the Hand squeezing at his fingers rhythmically, flame brighter than ever. There were sounds – distant but distinct. Eduardo hauled himself out of the hollow onto hands and knees. “I wish Mark was here” he said to the Hand, forgetting himself. The finger shuddered but moved, taking on a direct pointing direction; dead parallel with the path Eduardo was crouching on.

“Seriously?” Eduardo said in surprise.

The finger jabbed in the same direction.

Eduardo shrugged and stood up. The Hand’s light spread around him and lit the way, in the direction of the growing noises.

Eduardo pelted over the soft moss, feet barely sinking into the greenery.  He kept half an eye on the Hand, in case it alerted him to a bog or a chasm, but almost all of his attention was fixed on the upright figure in the distance. He lifted his other hand in the air and waved wildly.

“Hey! Hey! Please wait!” He almost tripped over a tangle of weeds and took a moment to catch his balance, only to look up and find the figure beginning to get further away.

“No.” He said to himself, gritting his teeth. “HEY! HELP! HELP, HELP ME, PLEASE!”

The figure stopped, but as Eduardo closed in on the person, he saw that they were standing in a defensive position, a large sharpened staff pointed directly at his chest. The tip was already blackened with blood.

Eduardo slowed immediately and lifted his hands at his sides, showing the stranger that he was wandless. “Please,” he said. “I mean no harm. I simply need to get to the nearest village.”

The figure advanced on him gingerly, and the fog seemed to abate a little.

His saviour was a broad man; shoulders so stooped that he seemed almost as broad as he was tall. He peered through a matted mass of hair and ragged cloak threads. “What are ya,” he said, jabbing the staff with each rough word.

“I’m a – a wizard,” Eduardo said, wondering if perhaps he should have said something more discreet. “I’ve been lost on the moor for days.”

The man squinted at him suspiciously, but after he eyed his robes up and down he seemed satisfied. “Gottrick,” he said jerking his head at his staff. “Hedgewitch.”

Eduardo nodded blankly. He’d never heard of a hedgewitch. “Eduardo,” he said. “I’m Eduardo – uh, Zuckerberg.”

Gottrick cocked his head, frowning malevolently again. “You don’t seem so sure of that, boy,” he said threateningly. “Yer one of those lying Ministry types?”

Eduardo put his hands up again. “No!” he said. “I haven’t been long married, you see. My family was the Saverins, before. I’m a Zuckerberg now.” He hoped that the darkness hid the flush that the explanation was bringing to his face.

Gottrick grunted.

“I’m not with the Ministry, but I wouldn’t mind you sending me their way, to be perfectly honest.” Eduardo tried to say it delicately, but Gottrick still snorted at his words and spat into the nearest bog hole.

“Aye, you’d better come along with me then,” he said, finally lowering the spear. He grasped it around the bloodied head instead and began to use it as a walking stick, testing the path ahead of them every few paces.

“Thank you,” Eduardo said, running to catch up.

“Quietly,” Gottrick hissed back at him. “I thought you were one of the bog beasties, but no doubt all your caterwauling will have roused a fine set.”

“Bog beasties?” Eduardo said blankly.

Gottrick gestured widely with his staff. “Spirits from them there banishing bogs,” he said.”The magical artefacts in there don’t mix well with the flesh and the feelings that get all thrown into the binding peat together.” He shook his head. “Wizards these days dunno know what it is to banish. They treat it like a land fill, they do. May as well be muggles, the lot of em.”

He grumbled less audibly as they went on.

“Do the spirits – the bog beasties – do they attack people often?” Eduardo hazarded.

The old man snorted again. “No, no, only those in the bogs are in danger,” he said, “Just poor little hedgewitches like meself, come to scrounge a little from the rich man’s dump.”

“You come in here often?” Eduardo asked, amazed. “I thought I would never escape the fog. You must have an advanced sense of direction.”

Gottrick chuckled and lifted his staff. “Ah no, Mister Zuckerberg, You’d have gotten free soon enough. I just have a bigger staff is all. We hedgewitches are just lucky, I guess.”

“It is a very big staff,” Eduardo agreed hurriedly.

“Yes, yes,” Gottrick said, pleased to be agreed with. “Surprised ye don’t have something like it with you, married so well as ye are, and wealthy too.”

Eduardo blinked, taken aback. “I have a wand instead,” he said. “Though I am not much good with it.”

The man leading him stopped stock still in the middle of the path. “A wand?” he said, nonplussed.

Eduardo fished his found wand out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, showing his guide. The moon was brighter now, and the fog that had coated everything before was gone.

“What on earth do ye have this for, boy?” Gottrick said, his hand shaking as he pointed at the wand.

Eduardo crinkled his forehead in confusion. “All wizards have a wand,” he said. “Otherwise it is really hard to do magic. This isn’t mine, but it’s better than nothing.“

Gottrick stared at him. “But ye ain’t really a wizard, ye silly thing,” he said. “Yer a hedgewitch, as clear as daylight!”

_[22nd meeting of the OA]_

_Members present: MZ; DM; CH_

“Hey.”

Mark looked up. Dustin was leaning on the other side of his barred door, staring determinedly at the stone floor.

Mark pushed his blanket down and sat up properly. “You’re here to visit me?” he said, doubtful.

Dustin rolled his eyes. “No, we just enjoy strolling through Ministry cells. Of course we’re visiting you, idiot.

Chris came around the corner, rolling his wrist uncomfortably. He still looked a little pale, and there were new creases in his forehead. “The wand confiscation is a tad brutal,” he said in greeting. “I don’t think your mother’s going to be very happy about being disarmed when she comes down.”

Mark winced and ran a hand through his hair; the curls were alreading matting. He wasn’t sure he’d even brushed it once since Eduardo had hurled his own brush at him a week prior.

“I wish she hadn’t come,” Mark said. “There’s nothing they can do, so they may as well distance themselves now.”

“They got you a lawyer!” Dustin countered.

“What’s the point,” Mark muttered. “I did it. There’s nothing else to discuss.”

“Shut up, Mark.” Chris said lowly. “Unless you want to give them more evidence.”

Mark shrugged. “Did Christy come?” he asked.

“Her parents are trying to convince her to denounce you,” Chris said. “But she’ll come later, I’m sure.”

“She’s your leader now,” Mark said. “Just tell her. She doesn’t need to come.”

Dustin gaped. “Are you serious? What’s wrong with you?” He pressed his face against the bars and glared.

Chris stood back, and surveyed his dropped shoulders and mussed hair. “You’re just going to confess, aren’t you? You want them to send you to Azkaban.”

“They outlawed the death penalty,” Mark shrugged.

“Mark,” Dustin said, quietly.

“I’ll tell them what happened.” Chris said. “I’m not going to let you kill yourself by proxy.”

Mark met his eyes steadily. “It will hardly matter,” he said.

Chris sighed. “Your parents are here,” he said, glancing down the corridor. “Your mother is not taking the disarming checkpoint well. She probably intended to put you out of your misery on her own terms.”

Mark’s lip quirked a little. “If only,” he said.

“The trial is tomorrow,” Dustin said. “We’ll be there.”

Chris nodded in agreement.

Eduardo stepped back, pulling the wand out of Gottrick’s immediate reach. “Excuse me?”

Gottrick squinted at him. “Yer really dint know?” He turned around and kept trotting along, grumbling loudly under his breath. Eduardo had to run to keep up.

“These purebloods,” Gottrick was muttering. “Nothing ever good enough fer them.” His staff tapped along the ground ahead of them, bouncing a little higher when Gottrick altered their direction. “Who’s meant to watch the little people,” he said. “The earth and bracken!” he said, thumping his stick. “The air?” He waved it aloft for a moment before grunting and putting his head down.

Eduardo took the moment of silence to check the Hand. It was determinedly pointed in the exact direction they were travelling. Eduardo sighed in relief and caught the hedgewitch eyeing him. “What?” he said, pressing the hand down into the folds of his robes.

“Thas not how those things are sposed to work,” Gottrick said, flicking his eyes back to the horizon. “I’m not about to take it from yer, boy. It wouldn’t let me, I dare say.”

“I can barely light it,” Eduardo said self consciously.

“Yer did though.” Gottrick said. “Look at it now, bending itself out of shape to suit yer will. Yer ever had anything else do something a little extra for yer like that?”

“No?’ Eduardo said, automatically. Most magic barely worked at all, let alone did more for him. Except maybe-

“What about house elves?” Eduardo said slowly.

“The cursed elves?” Gottrick said, thoughtfully. “Yea, they used to be of the earth once.” He looked slyly at Eduardo. “Yer getting it now, hm?”

Eduardo shook his head soundlessly, but he examined the Hand again all the same.

“Which way to Mark?” he asked it again quietly.

“Here we are,” Gottrick announced at the same time.

The finger jabbed, and Eduardo looked up to find the sketchy outline of a village looming large against the lightening sky. It was dawn.

“My name is Marilyn Delpy. I’m your lawyer.” The witch was in midnight blue robes with silver edging. She was obviously doing well in her work. Mark’s mouth twisted to think of the money his parents were wasting on her services.

“I can defend myself,” Mark said shortly. He pushed his hands into his pockets.

A witch poked her head into their chamber briefly. “Ten minutes until trials begin,” she called.

“I understand that you are intending to plead guilty to all your charges,” Marilyn said evenly.

Mark nodded.

“Admirable.” Marilyn said. “And you would be completely within your rights to do so.” She spread her hands. “However, I’d like you to just hear me out before we proceed. Then we can plead whatever you want, alright?”

Mark nodded, eyes flicking up from the table momentarily.

“Great. Firstly, your parents are paying me a great deal of money to do the very best I can for you. That could include pushing to have you committed to St Mungos for long term care instead of sent to Azkaban.”

Mark snapped his head up. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Marilyn lifted a palm to stop him. “That’s just one option,” she said. “You also need to know that several people have testified both against and on behalf of you. These people include,” she flicked through her papers. “Christopher Hughes, Christine Lee, Dustin Moskovitz, Erica Allbright, Severus Snape, Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss, Carlos Saverin, Sheryl Sandberg. There are some others, but they only submitted minor testimonies.”

Mark covered his face in frustration. “Those idiots,” he said. “I told them not to-”

“There are a large amount of positive testimonies, if it makes you feel any better,” Marilyn said, a quirk of a smile crossing her face.

Mark shook his head.

“As you might imagine, some of these testimonies are painting a rather different picture of the night in question than you or the Saverins are claiming. They will likely be charged with lesser crimes, mostly breaking and entering. They were all amenable to this.”

Marilyn slid her paperwork back into order. “Lastly, your charges.”

Mark rested his face on his hand, staring at the stack of parchment.

“You are charged with murder by vanishing; breaking and entering; conspiracy against the Ministry; and collaboration with You-Know-Who.”

Mark leapt up, throwing his chair backwards against the wall where it clattered over onto the stone floor in a heap. “Collaboration?” he shouted. He yanked his hands up as far as the chain would let them go. “I would never collaborate with Voldemort,” he said, straining at the chains. There was nothing he wanted more than to stride into the courtroom and destroy the rest of Lord Saverin’s Death Eating face.

“Calm down, Mark.” Marilyn said. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed. She was taking notes as if Mark hadn’t just destroyed Ministry property.

“I would never work for Voldemort,” Mark said again, intense as he leaned against the table.

“Noted,” Marilyn said. She looked up and smiled. “Well, now you’re willing to fight at least one charge, I think we’re ready to go to trial.”

She whistled, and a matching set of trainee Aurors marched in and uncuffed Mark from the table.

The seat was cold, and that was all that Mark knew of the courtroom. He didn’t want to look up and see his parent’s faces watching him fail them so absolutely.

“Lord Saverin is currently in St Mungos,” another lawyer said, clearing his throat, “undergoing a – routine procedure. I have been instructed to speak on his behalf.”

Mark smiled uncontrollably at his hands, remembering the mess Christy had managed to make of the man’s face.

“Lord Saverin alleges that Heir Marcus Zuckerberg broke into his estate with the aid of Mr Eduardo Zuckerberg, nee Saverin, and a number of their compatriots for the purpose of robbing the Saverin estate and other malicious intentions.”

Mark’s lawyer glanced at him, looking away with satisfaction when she saw that he was impassive. She stepped forward with quick steps and faced the jury and onlookers. “Our first order of business is to dispute the charges brought against Heir Marcus Zuckerberg,” she cleared her throat and motioned toward the door. “I submit to the court four of Zuckerberg’s alleged co-conspirators, and their pensieve memories. They have granted us extremely thorough access. Your honour may be surprised to find that their memories will alter the charges extensively.”

The court erupted as the judge reached for the first pensieve.

“Yer well behind, boy,” Gottrick said with a frown. “Ye should stay a while and learn yer real birthright.” He stoked the fire with a heavy looking poker.

Eduardo scanned the mantle in near panic. There was nothing on it but a couple of old dusty wizarding photographs in rough hewn frames, a manky looking ashtray with two hangdog cigarettes ground into it, and an enormous desiccated daisy. There was no tell tale glint of floo powder in sight, and it wasn’t on the hearth or nearby rickety sideboards either.

“Thank you,” he said, scanning again in case he’d missed it. “But I really need to get back to Mark.”

Gottrick snorted. “That dark wizard husband of yours?”

Eduardo shrugged.

“Bad news, bad news,” Gottrick muttered, seating himself in the big armchair in front of the fire. He motioned towards a stool beside the fire. “You don’t have to go back ye know. Ye must have run away here for a reason, hm?”

Eduardo started, almost knocking the stool out from under him. “I didn’t come here on purpose!” he exclaimed. “It was an accident. He – There was a battle, and I accidentally got vanished.” Eduardo bit his lip at the slip up, knowing exactly what it would sound like.

“Yer own husband vanished ye.” Gottrick pinpointed the fact immediately, wrapping his gnarled hand around his staff anew.

“It was an accident.” Eduardo said, sounding more certain than he was. “My father would probably have killed me with that curse otherwise. As it was, Mark was probably struck by it in my place.”

Gottrick hmmed again, face still dark. “To be truthful,” he said slowly, “I have half a mind to keep ye here for yer own safety. Yer lot are clearly madmen.”

Eduardo couldn’t exactly disagree. “All my friends must think I’m dead,” he said instead. “I can’t let them live with that on their consciences.”

“I suppose so,” Gottrick said thoughtfully. “Specially seeing as ye were vanished an all.”

“Exactly,” Eduardo said firmly.

“Alright then,” Gottrick said. “Let’s go.” He stood up, leaning on his staff.

Eduardo sprung up, looking around for the Floo powder again.

“Come on then, Zuckerberg,” Gottrick said. He leaned forward and stepped into the fire slowly. It sparked green as soon as his skin touched the flames.

Eduardo stared, mouth dropping open.

Gottrick chuckled at his expression. “Hedgewitch,” he said by explanation. “Just tell the fire where ye want to go, alright?”

Eduardo nodded dumbly and watched as Gottrick stomped his foot once.

“Ministry o’ Magic!”

The fire leapt up around him in an emerald torrent, and Gottrick was gone.

Eduardo blinked and peered around the room, just in case he’d apparated. Having ascertained that the hedgewitch really had vanished, he stepped up to the hearth, his heart in his throat. When he reached a hand into the fire the flames were as warm as they’d ever felt to him. The longer he left his hand there the more they tickled. The heat was uncomfortable, but it certainly didn’t hurt. He took a deep breath and strode into the midst of the fire, stepping carefully over the logs that were burning away merrily in the middle.

“Please don’t burn me,” he said quietly, casting nervous eyes over his robes and the Hand. But, there really was nothing burning in the fire but the logs. Eduardo tapped a foot on the ashy ground cautiously and spoke. “The Ministry of Magic, please.”

The fire engulfed him in green and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. The flames dropped almost immediately, and Eduardo looked up to find that Gottrick’s lounge was no longer on the other side of the hearth. Instead, there was an immense dark marbled hall, the familiar sight of the elaborate Ministry fountain blotted out by a crowd of formally robed wizards, all of them staring at him.

“Come now,” Gottrick said after a long moment. “Get out of the fire, yer holding up their Floo.”

“Sorry,” Eduardo said, automatically, stepping out of the tingling flames.

“Excuse me,” he said to one of the nearest witches, whose robes had the ministry insignia embroidered on the breast. “I need to send a message to Mark Zuckerberg. It’s an emergency.”

She didn’t answer; too busy staring with round eyes at the Hand of Glory that was still latched onto his hand. “Oh,” Eduardo said, glancing at it. In that moment its fingers twitched and it would have dropped to the floor had Eduardo not clutched for it. He gave it a pat and stowed it in his pocket with his useless found wand.

“Zuckerberg?“ The witch said finally, eyes widening even further, “He’s – wait, who are you?“

Eduardo smiled at her patiently, ignoring the creepy feeling of the Hand shifting and settling  in his robe pocket like a mouse.

“My name is Eduardo Zuckerberg, and uh, I’m not dead.”

_THE END_

 


End file.
